Where Strength Lies
by onelastecho
Summary: Another look at the Future Past DLC: Morgan finds herself at the receiving end of an attack of Risen. Having been saved from certain death, she finds herself joining the very people who rescued her: The Shepherds. However, among her new friends, she finds they cannot compare to the admiration she has for her father. The only problem she faces is that her father is Grima.
1. Chapter 1

For the most part, this story is a prequel to the Future Past DLC concerning my particular file. My unit's name is Kilian and he married Say'ri. For the most part, this is inconsequential to the story: for those who aren't fond of Say'ri or marrying her to the Avatar. The only other pairing I have made obvious in this story is Laurent/Morgan, which again, proves of literal importance to the plot.

I really just wanted to write a story showing a possibility for Morgan's involvement in the DLC, as it never explained her or his origins, but does hint that Morgan had been friends with the Shepherds before joining Grima.

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 _"Find her."_

It was only a matter of time before the call came, before things got desperate. Such a development had not been unforeseen, but perhaps unwarranted all the same. Unwanted and shoved away as long as humanly possible, but now the call was coming nearly every day. A call she was no longer able to ignore and had her rushing about in a panic. Armor, clothes, shoes, a weapon. Say'ri had ignored the call too long and now there was no choice left.

"Mommy—Mommy!" Morgan cried, pulling herself up onto the table. It was her light voiced call that stopped Say'ri in her tracks, her armor only half on. The little girl raised up her arms, desperate for the attention.

"Morgan…" Say'ri sighed, her shoulders slumping. The rush paused for but a moment before she tore her eyes away to finish dressing. With that, the sword she left high above on the wall was dismounted and strapped tightly to her hip. Only then did she allow herself one final luxury of picking up the small girl.

"Where are you going?" Morgan asked, her hands winding around. Her little fingers tangled into Say'ri's hair and yanked gently. She was getting big, as it were, but small for ten.

"Mother is…going away for a while," she said. Her feet began to pad along the flooring of the small house, quickly and quicker still. She moved back into Morgan's bedroom and sat the girl on the floor. "Do you recall the strange monsters?" Say'ri asked. She moved away from Morgan for only a minute, returning from a concealed closet with a long coat.

"The risen!" Morgan cheered, jumping up. Say'ri calmed her quickly as she knelt down.

"Aye, risen. These monsters are destroying our lovely home, so I must meet them in battle," Say'ri explained. "Now listen, Morgan," her words were hurried as she unfolded the coat. It was nothing if not familiar and still smelled pleasant. "This belonged to your father, and he would want nothing more than you to have it."

Morgan took the coat, almost in awe. But there was no more time for niceties. Say'ri grabbed Morgan by the arms and took her to the back of the room where she sat her in the corner, laying the coat over her like a blanket. Her heart was racing, pounding loudly in her ears now. Grasping things was becoming hard. If not for the band around her forehead, she might have been sweating by now. The knowledge of what was to come loomed dreadfully in the back of her mind, consumed her completely. If not for the grasp she had on Morgan, she might have lost reality completely.

"The risen will come for you," Say'ri warned hastily, "they will come, and you are to fight back. There are others like you. Fie! You are to find them and fight back!" Say'ri gulped, her trembling hands pulling back only to take Morgan's face. "Morgan…" she whispered now, a gentle smile coming across her face. She leaned forward to kiss her daughter's forehead, and with that, she stood quickly. There was no time to look back now, and she dashed from the house.

Silence was deafening now; Morgan held tight to the coat and curled in on herself. She never let go of it, all that remained of a father she never knew and a mother long gone.

Now adorned upon her arms, the cloak still did not fit right. It was in the moments that it slid down her shoulders and bunched around her hands that she recalled her mother's voice. Her mother's soothing voice spilling and telling tale after tale of her father. He must have been tall, Morgan mused. She fixed the cloak again and held up her tome.

At age ten, she had mastered thunder, by twelve—elthunder. Now, in her hands was the last arcthunder she could find in the house. Training had become a part of her daily life. Every day she would discover a new tome to use hidden away in the house as if they were left for her to find. One by one, she burned through each of them and left it ashen and destroyed in a corner. They had begun to pile up, but she could not leave to dispose of them. There was nowhere to go.

Morgan had never wandered far from the house, and all she could see for miles was nothing. It stuck out wildly in her mind her mother's warning of some impending doom that risen would come for her. So she practiced and trained, trained and practiced, until magic could fly from her fingers and through the air, until her sword was her own body. Out and alone where Say'ri had left her, where she had lived her entire life, there was no one for miles. There was not even a risen for Morgan's company.

Such was not the luxury of present any longer. A sudden crash jerked her from her studies, from her training. The tome spun through the air and landed with a thud, and only silence remained. Morgan's breath slowed, her heart beat quickened and beat against her throat.

 _They'll come for you._

Her palms began to sweat, gloves or not. They clammed up quickly before droplets formed against her cheek. She swallowed hard, feet padded along the floor as she made her way across the room. The wall seemed ages away, too far and too long of a walk. And yet somehow, against the odds, she pressed against it. It was cold against her ear, but the sensation was too short lived. She calmed herself inside and out, going still against the structure.

 _You are to fight back._

Again, Morgan gulped. This was never something she believed would come to fruition, not even in her wildest nightmares did she see the visage of risen skulking across the horizon, her name on their labored voices. Never did she think she would have to fight the monsters, but the noises arising from outside could be none other than risen.

"I thought we were out far enough," she muttered to herself, almost in shock. We had turned to "I", but Morgan could not stop insisting Say'ri was there. She pushed away from the wall, dashing through the room again to scoop up her fallen tome. The incessant growling was getting louder, and louder still. Her fingers curled around the hilt of a sword. It was nothing special, made of iron and old, but it was all she had.

"I will protect our home, Mother," she said grimly, a sullen frown setting across her lips. Alone as she was, it was in her gone-mother's hands that she left her trust in life. A lesson she'd been taught long ago: trust your family no matter what. Morgan nodded to herself, determination setting across her features as she made headway for the door. She would fight back.

The visage laid out before her was one of more terror than she ever thought imaginable. Somewhere along the lines, the sky had gone dark. The once verdant field amass with flowers ran rampant with monsters, monsters in every direction. Morgan sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

One.

Two.

She breathed again and opened up, her prayer sent off to whoever was listening. Fighting back was her only option now. She faced the mob head on, gripping her sword in one hand and her tome in the other.

The risen swarmed faster than she could have ever imagined, one by one they surrounded her, and one by one she cut them down. One after the other, they fell like flies as she cut through them. Their black smoke rose up as they dissipated. One by one, one by one. Morgan cried out, stepping back as lightning flew from her fingertips. It shot through the air, flying right through the chest of a risen. It fell with a loud groan.

"Twenty," Morgan smiled as it hit the ground, counting on her fingers for added affect. Her joy was not to last as three more took its place. One charged, and Morgan could not pull forth her blade fast enough to stop the lance from piercing her side. She let out a guttural groan and staggered backwards, dropping her tome in order to gasp at her side. With the other arm she waved her sword through the air and cut the risen down.

The sword was near useless now that she had to hold her side. She threw the weapon aside and retook her tome in a quick retreat. Once out of range, she pulled back her hand and peered at the blood dripping through the coat—it would need reparation again. She grimaced and shifted to hold the tome in her right arm, which then folded across to hold at her side again.

"Damn, there's too many of them," she looked around, watching as the creatures moved closer and closer. It was too late to give up hope, she decided, and stood tall again. Her back straightened and her neck cracked as she raised up her arm. Lightning shot through the air again, one strike after another, one risen after another. The only problem became that she could feel the tome's power weakening, losing its ability to protect her. It couldn't have had more than a few spells left in it by the time she let her hand fall again.

Her side twinged as she stepped backward. Breath after breath was sucked in deeply as she readied herself for her last stand, her last chance to protect everything she knew. The offensive was no longer doing her any good, leaving the defensive as the only stance she could take. Determination set strong across her face yet again as she planted her feet in the grassy ground. Her hand raised, and she waited.

Her labored breath was only rivaled by the heavy beating of her heart and some thought in the back of her mind that this would be the end. She would never see her mother again and would never hear a word of her father again. Her eyes closed and she readied to cast another spell.

An ear shattering shriek ripped her eyes right back open—a noise unlike any other she'd ever heard. Air pushed away with the sound of flapping, and Morgan was met with the first Wyvern she'd ever seen. Though far off, it seemed to be coming closer. Closer and closer, faster than the risen could make their way towards Morgan. But it was no perfect savior, it was no flawless hope. She raised her hand again in attempts to fend off the fiends coming closer. Even when she missed, it seemed to slow their assault.

Until the tome went dead in her hands. Her eyes went wide in shock. She twitched her fingers, panicked, anything in attempts to cast another spell. But the tome was dark and useless now, no better than a piece of garbage to be thrown out. It couldn't end like this, not now. She still had so much to do, she still had to find her mother. She still had to _live_.

"No…" Morgan gasped, "It can't end like this, I won't…!" she tossed the tome aside, but grabbing her sword was out of the question. She grimaced again at the sudden movement, her side twinging in pain.

"Fear not, dear lady!" a sudden voice rang out. Morgan staggered backwards as a figure took its place in front of her. He was dressed in spectacular armor, a shield adorning his entire left arm. In his right, a shining sword.

Perhaps it was all too good to be true, perhaps it was some miracle, but Morgan didn't care anymore. Her feet carried her back and back and back until she rested against the side of the house, sliding down to sit. She winced and let her eyes close. Finally a time to rest, and she left the risen in the hands of the mystery hero.

When her eyes fluttered open, her heart jumped into her throat as the face of a rough man entered her visage. She jerked, jumped, and sat up with a yelp. It was a choice she regretted immediately as pain shot up through her side.

"Hey!" the man shouted, his brows furrowing into a frown. "Lay back down! You aren't healed yet."

"Ah…." Morgan groaned, staring blankly at the man. He was dressed in attire she had never seen, colored purple and black and a drape over his shoulder. In his hand was a staff, glowing dimly as he lowered it out of her face.

"I think you're scaring her, Brady," a light voice rang up. Morgan looked up and her brown eyes met those of another who was incredibly familiar.

Brady, presumably, redirected his frown to the man with swooped up hair. Instead of fighting back, as Morgan thought he might, he reverted his attention back to her.

"Lay down," he suggested gently, albeit it was not as gentle as Morgan thought he might have intended.

Morgan squirmed, "Who…who are you?" she asked quietly. Her eyes began to scan the room, looking for any other people. It was obvious the room was her own, the house hers. But the people were new to her, completely. She had never seen them before in her life, but her gut told her loud and clear that they were not enemies. They certainly weren't risen.

"Name's Brady," Brady offered his hand, and Morgan took it cautiously. They shook once, twice, and released. He then pointed back to the other. The man waved and put on a flashing smile.

"And I'm Inigo," he planted his hands on his hips, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear lady. What might your name be?"

Feeling a bit more comfortable, Morgan slid back down on her bed, "My name is Morgan," she replied. Brady raised up his staff again and it resumed its bright glowing. The pain slowly started to subside, and she breathed again much easier.

"I must say, you fought those risen quite spectacularly," Inigo began, sliding around to sit on the bed. "Have you been out here long?"

Morgan nodded, "My whole life," she gasped not a moment after as the healing finished, and her wound sealed shut.

"Your whole life?" It was then that Brady chose to butt in, a little shocked at the development. Morgan nodded, a hum of affirmation leaving her lips.

"I and my mother lived here together, but she's gone," Morgan slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She meandered about the room in search of her mirror, then inspected her clothes. There was some crude stitching in along the side where they had ripped upon meeting the blade.

"Where's my coat?" she asked then, whirling around. She ignored whatever questions were about to rise from the two others' lips and moved towards the door. It opened with relative ease, revealing to her just one more person she didn't know.

"Hey! You shouldn't be walking around yet—!" Brady called after her. He pushed himself to his feet and moved out after Morgan, Inigo followed suit.

"Who are you?" Morgan frowned. A particularly hard frown was sent towards the man she saw handling her precious coat. She weaved around the furniture and walked over to the masked man. She was about to rip her coat from his hands when she caught sight of just what he was doing. In one hand was a needle. With some superb amount of skill, it threaded through the fabric and stitched the rip.

"That's Gerome," Inigo introduced, a wide smile on his face. He took Morgan by the shoulders and pulled her away, "he doesn't like to be disturbed. So come now, tell us more about your life," he offered.

Morgan raised an eyebrow and straightened up. She brushed away his hands and dusted her tank top off.

"I lived with my mother. She left some…uh," she raised her fingers and began to count on them. She stopped when she held up a palm and a finger, "six years ago."

Inigo and Brady looked at each other.

"What are you three doing out here?" she asked.

"We've been out there killing the risen," Inigo began, "some sort of army I guess, after our parents. We'd heard word that there was an unusually large amount of risen gathering around this area and came to investigate!"

 _There are others like you._

Morgan pondered the idea for a moment, "Just you?" she wondered. Her feet lead her back over to the main sitting area. Gerome, as she had gathered, briefly looked up at her. He handed up her coat and received a joyous smile in return.

"There are others," Gerome clarified.

"Thank you!" the comment was brushed aside as Morgan again adorned the over-sized coat. "Oh what a nice job, yes," she laughed and inspected the stitches. There was no reply to her overzealous appreciation, only silence as they watched her twirl.

"Do you plan to stay here?" Inigo asked then. Morgan stopped twirling and went stiff at the question. Her hands coiled around one another. She sucked in a breath.

 _You are to find them and fight back!_

Morgan gulped, "Mother…told me that they would come for me—the risen," she replied in turn. Her voice had gone quiet, and her face had gone serious. She eyed the boisterous boy and breathed deeply yet again. "I don't know _why_ she told me, or how she even knew but—"

Morgan stopped short. She didn't particularly want to leave the comfort of her own home. It was all she knew, all she'd ever known. And even more so, where she'd been alone all this time. These strangers appear from nowhere and save her life from a horde she'd never seen coming. Dreaming was out of the question; it was as if her mind knew what to do in this situation.

"Can I come?" she picked up where she left off, head slowly turning to meet eyes with all of them. The idea didn't seem too pleasant, not with the threat of risen rising slowly the longer Morgan stayed in one spot. But Say'ri had requested Morgan find the chance to fight back—this seemed like a god send to fulfill her mother's wishes.

"I don't have a problem with it," Inigo chirped, his gaze sliding over to Brady.

"The more the merrier," he replied. Then he looked to Gerome, who only grunted.

"We should get back quickly then."

"Get back? Get back where?" Morgan inquired, her head tilting in curiosity.

"To Ylisse, the Ylisstol castle," Gerome didn't seem too enthused about explaining the situation. He stood, his posture screamed annoyance as he stomped towards the door. Though the area was foreign to Morgan, she had heard stories of it from Say'ri. All she could figure was that it was their base of operations. It only made sense in the long run to return.

Morgan didn't pack much, only a small bag she could sling over her shoulders. After all, her tomes had been used up and her sword was broken. Besides the clothes on her back, she didn't need much either. It was easier to travel light, she had been advised. Especially due to their mode of transportation. In order to return to a place called Ylisse, they would ride the Wyvern of which the likes Morgan had never seen. It was an innate curiosity that was leading her to agree so easily. Perhaps even thoughts of her long dead father, who would have never let an adventure go to waste.

At least, that was what Say'ri told her.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again! I tried to keep this chapter at about the same length, since I realize they're a bit long. Regardless, I hope you continue to read and enjoy! More exciting stuff is soon to come, after all.

Also check it out on AO3

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Minerva, the wyvern, was none too pleased with another passenger to carry on the way back, and the ride was bumpy to boot. But the farther away from the lush secluded fields of Chon'sin, the less Morgan seemed to care about the ride. The lands they flew over were barren, burning, or long since destroyed. There were a few sparse villagers wandering the land below, and those who appeared equipped had taken up arms against stray risen. But the scene exuded hopelessness and loss. She couldn't help but wonder just how long this had been going on while she had only played with her weapons. Her arms wound tighter around Inigo's waist, and she laid her head into the back of his armor. The ride was bumpy, after all, and she only wanted to hold herself atop the wyvern. So it seemed, anyway. All she wanted to do was focus on something else besides the wasteland below.

The castle proved larger than she ever could have imagined, and dismounting from Minerva only made it larger as she stood on two feet in front of it. Her three companions made headway towards the door, but Morgan stood in awe at the towering largeness of the building. Her arms wound around herself, hugging the purple coat tightly around her lithe frame.

"Are you coming?" Inigo called back, waving his hand. Morgan jerked and nodded hastily, her short legs picking up into a jog so she could catch up.

The castle from the inside was even more extravagant. The ceiling was high and the walls were ornately decorated; a chandelier even hung from the top. And yet it was cold, it was empty. The space between wall and wall was left with nothing but air, nothing but a sense of dreadful hopelessness. It was not what Morgan expected from a famed headquarters, nor the famed castle that Say'ri had spun tales about. It was void of light and color, and it drained the very heart from Morgan's soul.

"This is where you all stay, then?" Morgan asked, her own words stumbling over the grimace growing on her face.

"Indeed; would you fancy a grand tour?" Inigo held out his arm for Morgan to take. His seemingly careless attitude elicited a snarl from Gerome.

"We need to report back to Lucina. This is no time for tours," he bit out.

Inigo chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head, "Always so stiff, I guess we can do that first. Wanna come?" he offered his arm for Morgan yet again.

She took it wordlessly and stepped in time with Inigo as they walked through the castle corridors. He pointed a few things out to her along the way, most importantly an empty room where she might stay if such an idea piqued her interest, but stayed quiet until they reached a pair of larger doors. Upon stopping before them, Inigo took his arm back from Morgan's tight grasp and pushed open the left door, standing off to the side to let the others enter before him, except Gerome. He entered before letting Gerome inside.

"Oh, you've returned," a woman spoke. She stood up from the table, a smile of relief crossing over her features. Her hair was long, deep blue, and simply pretty. She wore warrior's clothes with armor as well, on her hip rested a sheathed sword. She seemed something of a lord.

"We brought company this time, Lucina," Brady jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing out Morgan's presence. She smiled nervously and waved her fingers.

"Oh? Who are you?" Lucina asked. She retook her seat and offered one to the three boys who had accompanied her.

"Morgan," She replied.

"Please, take a seat then."

As per the offering, Morgan sat down. But the introduction was short lived as Lucina got right down to business. In front of her was a map, and Gerome spoke quickly and darkly about where they had gone, what they had seen, and stumbling upon Morgan amidst the large risen attack.

"Were you able to dispatc of them all?" Lucina asked.

Gerome shook his head, "Many were able to escape. They seemed eager to disperse once Morgan was moved inside"

"That's…strange," Lucina shot a glance over to Morgan, but she hadn't been listening to intently to the questions or their responses amongst the others. She only smiled in confusion.

"Do you propose we move to strike them all down?" Inigo wondered then.

Lucina nodded, her finger sliding across the map, "If you remember where they were headed, it shouldn't be hard to track them down."

"Wouldn't it be easier to gather them all together and take them out that way?" Morgan piqued. She leaned forward onto the table, her cheek against her hand, with a smile.

"Hm?" Lucina tilted her head. She hadn't considered that option.

"Well, it'll definitely be easier to wipe out a bigger enemy than hunt down them all one by one, right? At least, I think so. Probably," Morgan nodded to herself.

"I hadn't considered that," Lucina looked back over the map. "It should be possible. It'd be best to wait until they crossed to this continent though, so we don't expend our resources. But what about our…visitor?"

The question had to be raised, of course. She had simply shown up with no prior knowledge of the situation, of the area. All there was to go on was that Morgan was with them now, and having rescued her from risen, it would be foolish to abandon her on a whim. There was the possibility that she could be helpful: what ideas she'd already presented seemed to be of merit, but Lucina still could not gauge just what it was the girl wanted. If she had wanted to stay, it had not been mentioned, and so Lucina's inquiry could only be met with the drawn out silence of ignorance.

"Let me come with you!" she insisted then. Her exclamation broke the silence and said just what everyone else had been hesitant to suggest.

All eyes were on her in a moment: questioning, even glaring towards her. The idea seemed ludicrous, and even Morgan was starting to think that now. After all, she was only recently wounded and did not even hold a weapon to her name. But the statement still stood, and she with it now to bash her fists into the table.

"They saw me fight! Let me come with you," her smile only brightened.

"Her form was top notch, I must say!" Inigo agreed quite quickly.

"She's still recoverin'," Brady protested, though his performance was lackluster in persuading anyone. Gerome had no comment one way or the other.

"Perhaps you'll let us assess your skills then? I'd love to have another hero with us," Lucina agreed readily as well. Morgan was beginning to wonder why the idea was even proposed, but kept that to herself as she nodded.

"I don't have any weapons, but I'd be happy to show off anyway. My mother taught me swordplay, and I've just always known magic," she boasted.

"Perfect! Laurent probably has some time, do you think?" Lucina asked. No one in particular answered, but it was some general consensus that he would assess her, as it was. Morgan stood idly by, a bit confused, but nodded wordlessly.

"It would probably be best to save this for tomorrow, now that I think of it. It's late as it is, and you're probably tired," Lucina added thoughtfully.

Morgan perked up, having not thought of that herself. But, now that she did, her eyes were struggling to stay open and her legs felt weak, "I think I'm tired, yeah," she replied.

Lucina nodded, "Let me take you to a room then." Morgan trod behind the princess as she was lead, yet again, through the endless halls of the castle. Cold as they were, the bedroom she entered was warm and inviting. The bed was larger than hers at home. It simply begged to be slept in. Not a single second was spared once Lucina had departed with wishes for a good night's sleep; Morgan leapt onto the bed and found herself quickly enveloped by a world of warm blankets and dreams.

It wasn't until late next morning that Morgan was taken to the training hall. Weapons lined the walls, and where there were no weapons, there were shelves filled sparse with books and all manner of tomes. Compared to what she had stashed in her own house, Morgan had never seen such an impressive array of weapons. Lances, staves, swords, and even axes. Though it was a pale comparison to what it had once been, it was more than enough to amaze her. She nearly glided into the room, something like a pep in her step, and was met with something even more impressive.

A large armored figure leaped across the room, a wooden lance clasped tightly within the hands. The target was nothing in particular, but the strike was decisive and spectacular anyway. One step after the attack, and the figure straightened. Her hair was short and framed around her pale face. Puckered lips spoke of her frustration. Something about the attack hadn't been right, and she knew it.

"Something's off, what is it?" she asked, clanking armor echoed as she turned to move. Morgan wandered further in now, Lucina not far behind her.

"I think you're still hesitating at the end," another stepped out onto the main floor. He pushed his glasses up and straightened as he approached the other.

"That's Laurent, the one I was talking about," Lucina pointed out, "and that's Kjelle."

"It's probably from your wound. Just follow through with the strike next time, and you should find yourself back to normal," Laurent offered.

Kjelle nodded and held up her lance. Something stopped her when she turned around, and that was a disapproving look as her eyes set upon Lucina and Morgan, who were trying not to look so suspicious

"What are you doing here? And who's that?" Kjelle asked, stamping her wooden lance into the stone floor.

"I'm Morgan! New here and all," Morgan perked up and waved.

"Yes! We thought you might be able to train with her, Laurent. She wants to join us fighting as soon as possible."

"I didn't know we were accepting new recruits—"

"We aren't," Lucina corrected. Laurent looked miffed that he'd been interrupted, but didn't say anything further as Morgan stepped out further. He inspected her momentarily before glancing back to Lucina.

"I can. I assume you use a sword?" he had inspected her head to toe, and made his assumption based on what she wore. But Morgan put her hands on her hips, as though she was expecting a better diagnosis of her skills.

"I can use magic too," she boasted.

"Oh? Well, then here," he didn't question further, only handed her the tome out of his hands. She took it gratefully and smiled.

"I can test out a sword too, if you'd like," she glanced back at Lucina, who smiled.

"That would be splendid. However, I do most of my fighting from a horse, perhaps you would like to assist, Lucina?" Laurent asked. In that time, he had wandered back to a rack of weapons and plucked off a steel sword.

"My pleasure!" Lucina jogged forward to catch Morgan.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kjelle wasn't convinced, but her worries went unnoticed as Lucina happily took up place beside Laurent. He straightened his glasses yet again and slipped another tome off a shelf.

"Two against one? No fair," Morgan frowned. She held the sword in one hand and the tome in the other. Looking between the two, she was making a quick decision on which one to use first. Her formal training had been with Say'ri, and she remembered the moments of her youth fondly. Though her training had been brief, she continued it alone after her mother departed.

She was confident, so she set aside the tome and took up her stance. Not before fixing the jacket sliding down her shoulders did she take the first step towards her opponents. Her slow step picked up into a dash as she raised her sword. Blade clashed with blade, the legendary Falchion, as Lucina met her in stance. The force sent them flying backwards, only for Morgan to be met with a fire spell. She rolled along the ground, popping up below the fire to clash blades with Lucina again. Metal against metal, their blades clanged against each other each time a blow was dealt.

A blow she wasn't expecting came flying at her, and Morgan bent backwards to avoid the sharp feel of Lucina's blade. Her head never resurfaced as her legs dropped beneath her. She dropped and spun her leg out, knocking Lucina's heel and causing her to stumble backwards. When she popped back up, there was no time to dodge as Laurent came forward to take Lucina's place. He cast his spell and sent Morgan tumbling backwards. Her sword flew from her fingers, and she was left defenseless on the ground. One moment too soon did Laurent stop to revel in victory. Morgan pushed herself up and somersaulted forward. When she came back up, the lightning tome Laurent had given her was snug in her hands and she casted a shaky spell.

Another one flew in Laurent's direction, and he had no choice but to dodge and dodge again. When he finally had firm footing to return the attack, Morgan was out of his visage. Another lightning attack came from the side, and Laurent barely missed it before he was met with the tip of a sword. The tome thudded against the ground. In the silence, they heard the pages settle and the hard panting of everyone involved.

"She's alright," Kjelle shrugged from the sidelines. She had long since taken off her armor as the spectacle unfolded before her.

Morgan lowered the sword, a smile on her parted lips, and looked up to Laurent with expecting eyes.

He nodded in agreement, "Skilled, I would say. With a few polishes here and there, I think you'll be fit for this army," he gave a gentle smile and outstretched his hand. Morgan took ahold of it with both her hands and smiled.

"I-I won't let you down, Laurent!" she cheered, then whirled around, "or you either, Lucina!" it seemed an afterthought, but Lucina laughed.

"We could use all the help we could get, and especially a bright face to keep morale up," she added.

The fun was up quickly as Lucina turned back to business. Risen were still at large; the horde that had attacked Morgan had to be dealt with in a timely manner to keep things from going from bad to worse. A meeting was called not seconds after the training session finished. Surprisingly, even Morgan was asked to traverse back down the hall into the room she had first met with the Ylissean princess. She wasn't given details, but she took up a talkative place beside Laurent on the way back.

Her happy voice was silenced when she entered the room. A heavy air hung about, something a sort of seriousness. Graveness, danger. Morgan wasn't sure, but she had never seen the world either. Her brief fly from her hideaway here to a large palace was all she knew of the world beyond her private field. The map laid out on the table seemed unreal, purely a fantasy.

"We need to discuss the next mission. Do you have anything to report, Cynthia?" Lucina passed the torch onto another one. Her hair was done up in pigtails, her eyes were round, and she looked happy. Morgan listened intently.

"Uh, yeah! It looks like the risen are growing in number, actually. A little scary, but we should probably get busy on defeating them! We _are_ the heroes after all," she smiled brightly, her pigtails bouncing as she stood from her chair.

Lucina seemed troubled by the news, "Growing in number… Where did you see them?" she asked.

Cynthia bounded across the room, taking up a sturdy place to the left of Lucina's chair. Though her hands had been bound tightly behind her back, they popped out as she bent over and slid armored fingers across the map. She crossed from one continent to the other, then lifted her finger away. Lucina had gone deathly white.

"They seem to be moving rather quickly," Laurent observed. "You said they're growing in number as well?"

Cynthia nodded, "Yup! It was a pretty scary sight actually. High tailed it back here as fast as I could!"

Silence fell around the table as the information sunk in. They had been able to keep things under control until now, but it didn't seem to be going that way. This new information did something of a volte face to their current strategy of clean up, and they were left with a completely empty mass of ideas on how to handle the situation.

"Could it be that…Grima means to attack?" Lucina winced at the idea. The fell dragon loomed heavily over the children. He had attacked before, a time in which the risen had covered the land and left it in the desolate state it was in. It was in that time, years before—years which seemed little more than stories left for children to read for spooks and frights—which left their parents in coffins.

Whatever had taken place after that, Lucina was unsure of the details, had lessened the weight of the sword place in her hand. Risen numbers dropped, and it seemed some sort of hope was to restore itself. The shining peace Lucina sought fell from her hands as she watched Cynthia retreat back to her chair. Silence was heavier than Falchion ever had been, yet still she wished to wield it instead. Her throat was dry, her voice cracked.

"All we gotta do is fight'em," Morgan piqued up, a smile on her face. The silence shattered; something lifted off of Lucina's shoulders for a moment as she looked over. Her eyes swarmed with disbelief in the face of Morgan's cheerfulness.

"I don't know what you guys do, but you seem pretty capable to me! I saw it with my own eyes, of course," she stood up from her chair. "A few more of these—uh, risen—shouldn't be too much of a problem. Just take'em out like you've been doing! Look, I can help."

Morgan weaved around the table and came to stand at Lucina's side. There was something familiar about it, something which tugged at Morgan's heart, but she cast the feeling aside and pointed at the map. Her finger slid across the paper as she looked over the drawn out terrain. Perhaps her words would have meant more if she knew the area, knew the hills and the forests, but for now it was her intentions that counted.

"Uhh… Here!" Her finger moved and stopped on something that must've been a larger hill, a pass even. "If we have the high ground that automatically gives us the advantage! If the goal so far is to take out the largest group, then we just meet them here! And all of us don't have to go, just the ones you think can get the job done best."

This time, the silence was a direct result of surprise, shock at Morgan's words. Tactical as they were, it raised the question of what more could she offer? Having seen her skills first hand, it was Lucina who looked first to Morgan with a gentle smile set upon her lips.

"I would ask then that you join who I send," she replied in earnest.

Morgan jerked up, pulling her hand back, and stepping back half a foot, "M-me? But I've only just got here! I don't know anything about Ylisse or—"

"But you'll learn! I can feel it," Lucina stood up, taking Morgan's waving hands in her own. "Please, we're desperate. I don't want a repeat of what—what happened," she swallowed hard. Morgan only stared up at Lucina, her brown eyes begging a question. Lucina didn't want to answer. She let go of Morgan's hands and cleared her throat.

"Morgan, if I have Cynthia take you out to scour the land from the sky, do you think you could learn it well enough to help us plan?" Lucina asked. She had calmed down to something more inviting. Morgan received the change well and nodded.

"I mean I'm definitely not great at tactics—not as good as my father was anyway—but I can do my best!" she put her fists on her hips and puffed out her chest in confidence.

"Yay!" Cynthia stood up now in turn, "This'll be fun! I'll show you everything you have to see! Oh it's so nice to have another friend," she giggled.

Lucina smiled gently, "Indeed. You can depart whenever you want, just make sure to report when you get back, alright?"

Morgan nodded, "Sure, I can do that."


	3. Chapter 3

Im trying to keep these chapters about the same length, but seeing as how I finished the story it's kinda hard to chop it into chapters xD i really don't like writing in chapters, but people also don't like reading giant droves of text. Ah the struggle.

Anyway, please enjoy! Any comments are welcome.

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It wasn't quite that simple, as preparations had to be made. The journey would be short, of course, but Morgan was still unarmed. It was better to travel prepared than not, and so her next stop was, again, the training room. Cynthia accompanied her this time, bounding happily down the hallway. She, of all, seemed the most excited to have Morgan aboard. It was welcoming, and Morgan couldn't help but smile as they entered the training room.

"I use a lance, what do you use?" Cynthia asked, nearly skipping across to the room.

"Oh—a sword, and magic," Morgan picked into a jog to keep up. Her answer delighted Cynthia who let out a small giggle.

"My lance used to belong to my mother, you have anything like that?" her fingers wound carefully, almost delicately, around a beautifully crafted lance which she took down from its mount.

Morgan shook her head, "Nope, sadly enough. I'll just have to use what you guys have here," she smiled. It was a sad smile, but content enough with her place regardless. She strapped a sword onto her belt and took a tome into her hand. It felt like home, home enough. A light sigh later, she turned to face Cynthia. She had taken a heroic stance, a confident look on her face.

"Ready to go?" she asked. Morgan responded with a simple nod. They mounted the Pegasus, and Morgan, who sat behind Cynthia, clung tightly to her shoulders in preparation for what was to come. The first time she had ever flown was on the back of Minerva upon her rescue; the idea still rattled her.

Only when the Pegasus had lifted off of the ground and joined the darkened sky did Morgan realize just how utterly stiff the castle at Ylisstol had been. The wind against her face reminded her of home, dark sky disregarded with the smell of soot. It took all the energy left in her bones to throw away the image of lush green fields, the visage of her childhood.

Her arms were tired, but they wound around Cynthia's waist as she looked down over the ribs of the beast, eyes downcast towards the ground. The wind gave no comfort any longer, and not even the gentle pat of Cynthia's hand against her own could give her solace.

"I don't…remember this in the stories," Morgan replied. Hills had been leveled, valleys riddled with lost equipment, and forests crisped up in fire. And even then, she felt hope in Lucina's eyes.

Cynthia shook her head, "Nope, it's not been this way for long anyway. We hope to fix it up real quick!" she beamed a smile back over Morgan's black hair.

Morgan smiled in response and straightened up her back to look over the land below them. Every dip and rise in the land was committed to memory, not a single detail overlooked. She even began to count the wandering risen, scouting quickly with darting eyes the best places to start an attack. The rush of the wind clogged up her ears, leaving only her eyes to focus. All her years alone could not compete with the intense focused seriousness that had infected her eyes. Even then, it felt as though she was someone else. It was not her own body searching endlessly the terrain, but another, more serious version of herself.

It all came to a screeching halt as the Pegasus stopped midflight. Cynthia had pulled back and let out a high pitched squeal, though it was nearly silent. It still shocked Morgan out of her deep concentration. Her hands moved up to Cynthia's shoulders, and she pushed up just a little, in any attempt to see what was in front of them. They were about the same height, but it was still a struggle.

"Why'd we stop?" Morgan asked.

"We're at the edge of Ylisse, so it's time to turn around!" Cynthia replied brightly. "Up there is Ferox, we'll never get this far on foot this quickly, so there's no point."

Morgan nodded, "Sounds reasonable. Let's head back then, I'm starving."

Cynthia hummed a peppy tune in response and pulled back on the reigns. The Pegasus turned in response and the rush of wind began again. Morgan wasn't about to let this pass her by and used it has a chance to look over the land again.

"Have you been out fighting much?" Morgan asked.

Cynthia nodded, "Yup!" her voice was loud, "Not for too long, but some battles already! What about you?"

Morgan shook her head, "Nope. Never seen a risen until recently actually."

"Whoa, that musta been nice! Come on, let's get back to the castle. I can go really fast, wanna see?"

A sudden topic change didn't bother Morgan. Her excitement took over and she nodded. Cynthia snapped the reigns, and they went full speed back to the castle.

There was no time for eating when they arrived back in the palace. If Laurent hadn't been waiting for them outside of the stable, then perhaps they could've each snuck in a roll of bread. But there was no time for that. No sweet talking would get them out from under Laurent's scrutinizing gaze. Even the rumbling of their stomachs would not do so, the way he crossed his arms meant business.

"Do we have to now?" Morgan whined. If it wasn't for the simple fact she didn't know anyone here, she might've had to be pried off a wooden post before she was marched into the castle. But shyness took over for the time being, a quirk of being alone so long, and so she followed Laurent reluctantly. Cynthia wasn't far behind, humming a small tune.

"Yes, it's imperative that we learn this information as soon as possible. If we can eradicate the risen swiftly, their presence shouldn't hinder us much in our quest to restore peace," he replied sternly.

Morgan wasn't quite ready to admit defeat, "Okay, but can't I get a piece of bread or something?" she smiled warmly.

Laurent raised his eyebrow, "I supposed—but only after you report your findings to Lucina."

Morgan sighed, "Of course, of course. Starting to get the feeling a few lives or so revolve around her."

The comment received no reply, much to Morgan's disappointment, and they continued in silence, stifling silence.

Morgan prayed the meeting would be far more eventful than her attempts to tease Laurent. The boy was having none of her antics, so she kept quiet. It wasn't until she waltzed into the meeting hall did she part her lips again.

"I have figured my strategy!" she announced not a moment after the doors were open. She sauntered in as if she had just solved the mystery to the safety of the world, even if it was purely brash confidence. She carried herself quickly over to the table where the map was laid out, beside Lucina.

"Do you have spare paper, I believe I can show it better there," she requested.

Lucina nodded, "I can't believe you've figured it out so quickly—I wasn't expecting anything today," she admitted.

That knowledge did not sit well with Morgan's grumbling stomach, and she shot a not too kind glare over in Laurent's direction. Either he didn't notice, or he didn't care; neither possibility made Morgan happy, but she brushed off the emotion as the paper was brought to her.

"I figure we make a stand here," she began with a rough scribble of the land layout. Best as she remembered, it turned out near identical, so she began boxes to act as people and arrows to show her ideas, "in the hills of the North road, it would give the advantage of high ground at least."

Lucina nodded, leaning in close to watch the quill slide along the paper. By now, even Laurent had taken a seat in order to learn more.

"We set it up in a way that there are two groups, one on each remaining hill, and leave room open for Gerome and Cynthia—flying units if you will—to create a pincer attack! With the risen focused on the two larger groups, they'll be too preoccupied to notice the addition of two more people. Take them out quick like that, and be back in time for supper!" she set down the quill in order to step back and admire her work.

 _Just like father would,_ she mused thoughtfully. At least, she hoped it was just as her father would.

"That sounds like a wonderful plan to me," Lucina smiled. "Did you happen to notice any risen?"

Morgan nodded, "Yeah, they sorta seem to be gathering together. Not too far from the bridge actually," she leaned back over the table to point to a specific spot: about a mile north of the bridge.

"Why would they be congregating in such an unspecific location?" Laurent wondered aloud. His brows furrowed in confusion, even frustration. It didn't make sense. In hindsight, neither had the sudden appearance of risen made any sense. It had lead them to finding Morgan, yes, but the numbers didn't add up. Up until now, there had only been a steady number. A number that had been decreasing.

"None of this makes any sense," he muttered tiredly.

"Hm?" Morgan smiled, eyes wide in question.

He eyed her from beneath the brim of his hat, then let out a sigh, "Perhaps you aren't aware, but for the past year or so, the number of risen has been decreasing. I've kept careful track. Yet all of the sudden, the number doubles in a day. It all seems a bit suspicious."

Morgan mulled over the new information before nodding, "It does! And that's why you've only got to kill the risen faster," in the end, she only shrugged before letting out a yawn.

Laurent raised an eyebrow at the exclamation.

"You've worked hard," Lucina smiled, "it's so nice to have another someone on board, especially doing so much in such a short time. I think you've earned a break for a meal."

Morgan smiled. That was just what she'd been waiting for. If it wasn't for her mother's farewell wish, she might have not been so cooperative. Even so, it was nice to have her quick and painless efforts acknowledge enough to earn a snack or two.

"Oh, perhaps someone could show me _where_ to eat…" she laughed weakly.

"Laurent?" Lucina volunteered him. While he wasn't about to agree, he decided it would be easier not to openly protest the sudden order either. A heavy sigh later, Laurent begrudgingly stood up.

"This way, then," he offered a hand. Morgan stared blankly, which prompted the latter to simply begin his way out the door. She followed close behind.

There was no lavish dining hall like Morgan had been expecting, just a simple small room where she could find something to eat. It wasn't much, but it wasn't something she would have trouble adjusting to in the meantime. The sudden abundance of people to talk to was something she would have trouble with. The eating space was already occupied by a few other people, people Laurent took it upon himself to introduce her to. She met Yarne, who was apparently something called a Taguel. To add to the strangeness, she met Nah as well—a manakete. Morgan didn't ask what these particular species were, but committed it to memory to do some private research on the matter. It would be easier that way.

The two sat down at a table together, something that could hardly be called a meal laid out in front of them. It was better than the bread Morgan had sometimes consumed, but lukewarm soup was hardly something she would call nutritious. Laurent seemed to enjoy well enough, lanky as he was. It made Morgan smile, at least.

"Something amusing?" he wondered almost suspiciously. Maybe he'd been watching her while she ate, but she finished her bite anyway.

"Nothing—you're kinda skinny aren't you?" she laughed.

Laurent raised an eyebrow, "You aren't the picture of health either," came his snarky retort.

She giggled in response, slurping up another spoonful of soup. He was beyond unimpressed, and beneath his hat attempted to hide the smallest crack of a smile. Morgan spied it, lighting a sense of euphoria in her gut. That was definitely worth a side comment here or there.

Work did not resume until the next day when an impromptu meeting was called by none other than Lucina herself. Morgan, guest of honor as she was, was the last to hear of the development due to her late sleeping habits. She had slept far later than she meant to, but was not to be allowed present dreams much longer. It took one, loud, angry knock from her babysitter to rouse her from sleep, and a second one to have her scrambling out of bed in a panic. By the third knock, she was dressed. While messy and probably far from looking decent enough to meet the public eye, it would have to do. By the fourth knock, she was reaching for the door and had it yanked open before the fifth knock could even be conceived. Laurent met her gaze with a bit of a scowl, though Morgan ignored it in order to think.

"We're going to be late—we have a meeting," Laurent scolded.

Now to avoid both of them being late, Morgan decided there was only one course of action—the best course of action.

"Race me!"

"Wh-what?! Preposterous—in what world—!" Laurent attempted to protest, but he couldn't react fast enough to the sudden hard yank on his arm. Maybe it was reflex, maybe it was just some inner sense of _fun_ , the ludicrous idea. But his legs picked up quickly into a run. Though it wasn't quite a race, he still dashed to keep up with Morgan. One hand was clamped against his head to keep his hat from flying off.

He could admit the premise of the race had been enjoyable, but it left him completely out of breath when he made it to the meeting room. Morgan was in no better position, but her added theatrics in regaining her breath helped lessen the shame he was feeling upon having partaken in such a frivolous activity. Racing: for children, and he had no time to be acting like that. Morgan did, and he would have scowled if he could breathe normally.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Inigo beamed, "Laurent? Late?" he added a snicker at the end, just for the final stab to Laurent's pride.

"I-it was her fault!" he countered almost immediately.

"Yup! Slept late, sorry," there was no sense in hiding it. She brushed off her coat and stumbled over to the table, trying to stifle back her laugh. It came out as hiccups between her labored breaths, and did nothing but cause a vague state of alarm.

"What, you her baby sitter now?" Brady teased next.

By now, Laurent was not dignifying them with a response. He kept calm and straightened his mage's hat. Morgan was still in a fit of laughter, but even that eventually died down, leaving in its wake a string of deathly silence.

"I'm glad you made it, then," Lucina piped up, an embarrassed smile on her face. "I was hoping you would share your strategy with the rest of us, so we may begin preparations."

Morgan nodded, "I would love to. Is everybody coming?" Her smile was as bright as she was confused with this new set up. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for some sort of introduction she assumed.

Lucina nodded in response, "Though it is up to you."

Responsibility. Morgan chuckled weakly and pulled up a seat. By now, Laurent had also taken a seat—at the opposite end of the table. Perhaps it was for the best; Morgan was growing too accustomed to pestering him. It had only been a couple of days after all.

With the map as her only aid, Morgan improved an explanation of her plan for the young Shepherds. Each was given their own role in the plan, and more specifically, how their role would revolve around the pincer attack. It was regrettable that only Cynthia and Gerome could fly, but saying so lead to some interesting information.

"I may not be able to fly," Laurent began, "but I do ride a horse. I may be able to assist them if you would think that wise."

Morgan beamed, "Yeah! Fast moving is all I'm really looking for—that'd be perfect actually," she scooped up a quill and drew a long line along the edge of the map, adding an arrow at the end in some attempts to signify Laurent, perhaps. She looked sideways at it before raising her eyes again.

"Are there any questions?" she asked brightly. No one responded in turn, giving the plan an okay.

"I think the best course of action would be to have someone patrol the sky every day—just to keep track of where the risen are at," Morgan continued then. "When the gathering starts to get big, that's when we strike. Until then, I say we train to make this as easy as possible!"

"This better be over with quick, then," Gerome was the first to leave. The meeting was over as it were, and one by one they all dispersed back out into the large castle. Some went to train, others went for a midday meal, but Morgan stayed behind in the room. Lucina had stood up, ready to leave as well, but stopped short beside Morgan.

"What you're doing—I'm really thankful for it," Lucina smiled, "you have no obligation—and yet,"

"It's what my mother asked of me, that I fight back," Morgan admitted, giving a bright smile, "besides! My father was a tactician—or so Mother told me. I've always wanted to be just like him, I couldn't pass up my big chance!"

Lucina let out a small laugh, "True enough. I'll be off then. I'd like to hear more about your parents sometime though, if that's alright."

Morgan nodded hurriedly and waved Lucina off. She turned back to the map afterwards and traced her fingers along it. This had been her dream for so long, it was hard to believe the opportunity had simply, and literally, knocked on her door. The idea was ridiculous, yet she stood in the walls of Ylisstol Castle among others left in her same situation. Enthralling, exciting: Morgan couldn't wait to get on the battle field for the first time and prove herself. This too would be a dream lost if she didn't get to work.

How much work she really wanted to put in was still up in the air. Studying up on tactics she could probably do, but the idea of more physical training just seemed much too bothersome. She let out a histrionic sigh before finally exiting the room herself. With self-discipline lacking, another day of rest and eating was in order for her. Maybe she would begin training the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

A little late with this update, sorry about that, but hopefully things are starting to pick up. I haven't been feeling well so updating might slip my mind well I try to recover. thank you for waiting though and i hope you enjoy!

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Training turned out harder than she thought it would be, especially on her own. Back in her lonely dwelling, the only training she ever did was to keep herself upright and out of boredom's grasp. However, now it was a fight for her life. The urgency the other children felt seeped into her heart. She had never felt such an intense need to train and help their cause; but it was nothing like she had expected. Each useless day after useless day ended with her sitting off of to the side in the training room, a book in her lap, and her eyes glancing up occasionally to watch the others train. It wasn't worthless, to read, they were old tactic books she had found lying around. To be more like her apparent tactician, it seemed a good way to spend her time.

Some of the other trainees didn't think quite so fondly of what seemed to be slacking off. There would have been less tension if she had found somewhere else to do her reading, but the idea of watching others train was something she wasn't quite ready to pass up. Several people came to her in order to request she train with them, but it wasn't until Cynthia hopped along that Morgan considered it.

"Whatcha reading there?" Cynthia asked, peering over best she could with Morgan huddled in a corner.

"Oh? Just an old tactician book I found," Morgan beamed and turned the book around to proudly show off the pages. They had been marked up by an old implement; the notes were far more than just helpful.

"That looks so cool! Are you gonna try to use it for us?"

"Yup! That was the plan anyway. Anyway, did you need something?" Morgan finally shut the book, but not before adding yet another dog ear into the torn up pages.

"Yeah, see, I was wondering if you wanted to come train with me. I heard you were turning everyone else down, but how could anyone turn down the Great Hero Cynthia?!" her smile was perhaps brighter than the sun as she jammed the butt of her spear into the stone ground. But it was impressive nonetheless and lit Morgan's face alight with a smile.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Let me grab a sword!" she hopped up and nearly dashed to grab one from its rack.

"Go easy on me! I just got back from my patrol," Cynthia begged, but there was no mercy to be given. She grasped her lance and met Morgan's blade in mid thrust. One block after another, the clash of metal resounded through the small space. Their battle was not as impressive as it was that Morgan had finally gotten up.

Sparring seemed a much more efficient way to train, but Morgan soon found herself losing breath. She lacked armor, and neither of them had thought to grab wooden weapons. Partially Morgan's own eagerness, but the lack of armor made the spar even more dangerous. Cynthia had only just returned from her patrol: her body was clad tightly in it. It didn't take long for Morgan's tactic to take a complete turnaround, from offense to defense. It was her biggest mistake during the time she faced the risen—her defense lacked.

One blow after the other, she blocked them. The more comfortable she got, the faster she moved. Heart beat in her head, breath labored, nothing had been more tiring. But her feet refused to stop. Her legs dipped, and she bent backwards beneath the thrust of the lance. Dipped again, she dropped into a roll and spun in order to send Cynthia to the ground. As planned, Cynthia tripped and fell flat on her face. Morgan took her chance for victory then.

"I win!" she laughed.

Cynthia groaned, "No faaaair."

Morgan extended her hand to help the pigtailed girl onto her feet. Cynthia, in turn, picked up her lance and began to meticulously inspect it.

"It was a good fight, then!" Cynthia perked up upon deciding the weapon was unharmed. "Maybe we could make a habit out of sparring? I'm not used to fighting on the ground."

"I never thought about that," Morgan hummed, tapping her finger against her chin. "But, I'll glad help you train! I could use some help too anyway. Solo training is way too difficult."

Cynthia giggled in return, "Yeah! I try to train with everyone sometimes though, learn different styles. That way my quest to be a hero won't be too hard!"

"Train with everyone, huh?" of course there were tactical advantages to that. Not only did it teach different styles, but helped strength the ability to fight together—if she remembered what the book said at least. Either way, it made the most amount of sense, but her beating heart got the better of her as all she wanted to do was sit down and take a rest, easily for the rest of the day.

"I think I'll head out for the time being then," Morgan said suddenly. She must have zoned out, judging by Cynthia's face of confusion. Cynthia had been going on about her different encounters with the other Shepherds, talking of what great heroic feats she had gone to in order to best them. The stories were exaggerated as Cynthia had rarely beaten anyone on the first try, but the need to impress remained.

"Uh, yeah, sure, "Cynthia waved slowly as Morgan departed the training room. She was in need of a bit of air to clear out the fatigue. It always worked before.

The sudden gush of fresh air against her face was just what she needed to feel invigorated again. Her nostrils filled with the dense gust as she stepped out. The door shut behind her. There was a whole expanse of land in front of her. It was neither as spacious or as beautiful as the field she had once lived in, but that could only be chalked up to the horrid conditions surrounding them. Something she could overlook.

Believing a long walk was just the thing to cool her nerves after a battle, she set out in the darkened grass. If only there had been something to see, or even something to think about. She was left empty and in an even emptier area. It wasn't entirely void, and so that became her new destination: the only thing that remained within her sight. It was the stable. She'd only been inside it once, a fond time upon returning from her first exploration of the land. Curiosity lead her closer and closer until the door was inches from her face.

"Oh, fancy meeting you here," Morgan piped up.

Laurent turned his head away from the beast before him, only to meet eyes with Morgan. He didn't seem as elated as she to come in contact again, but he gave a nod of acknowledgement.

"Is that the horse you were talking about the other day?" she wondered, inching closer. It was strange to see Laurent in this type of setting. Not only was he wearing different clothes, but nearly every inch of him was covered in bulky armor. The only thing that remained recognizable was his glasses and hat.

"Yes. Sadly, she's the only horse here. Or anywhere that I've seen," He gave a faint remnant of a smile as his gloved hand slid along the horse's mane. It gave him a sense of warmth, to know that she had not left him, not yet anyway.

"What's her name?" Morgan had taken up a place beside Laurent, letting her eyes roam over the horse. She was definitely beat up and in need of a nice long vacation, but that sort of thing was out of the question in a world like this one, Morgan assumed. She was never given any clear indicators or information on how the situation had been before her arrival. And she didn't ask.

"Miriel," Laurent responded, though the name burned against his tongue like acid. It sent a sickness twirling in his gut, an unpleasant memory to his mind.

"That's a pretty name. Your horse is pretty too, I've never seen one up close."

Morgan raised her hand, but Laurent quickly caught it and kept it away from his horse. He let go as quickly as he had grabbed hold and retracted his hand to his side. He was sweating, perhaps from nervousness or perhaps from the weight of the armor.

"Ah, sorry," she apologized quickly. Her arms folded and her shoulders hunched. The air was uncomfortable and stuffy.

Laurent let out a soft grunt, "N-no, I should be the one apologizing. It's a…touchy subject."

"Hit a nerve then, huh?" her shoulders relaxed as the heaviness lifted away from the air around them. Laurent nodded in return, showing more weakness than he had originally intended to show. But the deed was done already. Worried eyes were cast upon him, causing his shoulders now to tense as he sucked in a deep breath.

"Miriel…was my mother, is all," he sighed out. He pushed up his glasses as he ducked down his head, hiding whatever emotion he was letting through on his face. Thankfully, Morgan didn't seem to catch on.

"Oh? I bet she'd be honored, then! No reason to be upset," she inched closer, turning up to see beneath the rim of Laurent's hat. That was his cue. He weaved around her and made headway for the left open gate of the stable.

"She's no longer here," his solemn words came out less choked than he thought, and he couldn't have been more happy to know he could still hold himself together even in the face of his familial memories. His comment must have been enough to shock Morgan, as she did not dash to catch him and walk at his side like she had been. It was a little strange not to listen to her constant blabbering, especially with her so near.

Respecting Laurent's original hesitation, Morgan had simply slumped out of the stable behind him and left the horse alone. But the comment had sent her into a world of thoughts, leaving her mouth silent and her head louder than life. Thoughts she didn't want to think of, yet thoughts that would not leave her alone.

When they reentered the castle, Morgan wordlessly abandoned Laurent's company. Something struck deep within that caused concern to stir, but her posture warded him away from saying anything for the time being. Her shoulders were hunched again and her lips pursed. She couldn't escape back to her room fast enough, and even that did not help. Thoughts of her own mother kept her awake most of the night. She was no longer here either, yet still it never crossed her mind to assume the same she had assumed for Laurent's mother—death. Simply, Morgan's imagination took over as she recalled a time where Say'ri was there to guide her blade.

A lack of sleep invited a dark cloud to hang around Morgan for most of the following morning. Due to the extreme contrast from her usual peppy demeanor, one of which most of the Shepherds had gotten used to by now, most of them left her completely alone. Breakfast in the mess hall was a silent, painful experience. Whereas normally Cynthia would've sat down and chatted with her, or she might have shared a snickering glance or two with Severa, Morgan sat utterly alone and picking weakly at her bread. There was someone who was not afraid to approach her, however, in this melancholy state, and he sat down across from her with his own breakfast.

"Good morning, Morgan," Laurent greeted, gently pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Well met," she muttered, only briefly granting him eye contact from beneath the black locks dangling in front of her eyes.

He raised an eye, but paid her attitude no mind, "I was hoping you might accompany me today. I've heard from the others amongst our ranking that you haven't been training as hard as you might. And as training was your own suggestion—"

"Alright," she interrupted. Her sudden agreement shocked Laurent, as he didn't think one so under the weather would immediately submit to backhanded _insults_ to their work ethic. But when their eyes met, he saw the underlying sense of eagerness in her irises, an eagerness to feel the brightness of hope again. He was not against enlightening her to something beyond misery, and so he even cracked a smile at the sight.

"Excellent. I was hoping to atone for my rudeness previously and take you out to see my horse again. You seemed interested in her yesterday as it were."

Morgan nodded, "I was. I've never seen a horse before, not up close anyway."

"Really?" Laurent tilted his head. He was curious to learn how someone could have never seen a horse.

"I'd never seen a Pegasus or a Wyvern either, not before you guys showed me," she laughed weakly.

"Where ever did you live before?" By now, his breakfast had been long forgotten. Morgan's nativity was far more interesting.

"Ahhh, I think they called it Chon'sin? I don't really know, Mother wasn't specific. But it was really isolated."

"Chon'sin… That's on an entirely different continent. Yet you find yourself here?" The questions kept coming; it was self-control that kept him from badgering her with them all.

She gave a shallow nod in return, "Yeah. Something about a huge horde of risen. I just happened to be not too far from them, got attacked. Then whoosh! Shepherds came to save the day," she laughed.

Laurent found himself smiling in turn to her joy. Whatever he had done, it had worked and brightened up her dark cloud shade by shade.

"Come, let's head to the stables," he took it upon himself to lead their expedition and stood up.

"What about training?" Morgan scrambled to catch up with him. He shook his head as they walked.

"We'll move to that eventually. Training on a full stomach and foul mood isn't healthy," he went silent after his comment, but it was enough to warm Morgan's heart. It didn't take much to glean how much Laurent valued both training of the mind and body, but to hear his priority was all she could have asked for. The pep returned to her step as they maneuvered through the castle and exited.

The horse seemed delighted to see Laurent, and even happier as he approached with food. But Laurent didn't hand over the food immediately; instead, he called forth Morgan. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and accepted the bag of feed. It had been forced upon her in light terms and left her confused.

"Feed her," Laurent offered, stepping off to the side.

"Are you sure it's okay—?" but Laurent nodded before she could finish. Morgan beamed and nearly fell forward in attempts to stand before the horse. She seemed as apprehensive as Morgan did, but after a few long awkward moments of staring, Miriel decided it was safe to accept the food.

"She's so pretty!" Morgan interjected, "I would just love to try and ride her and—wait, no," she calmed herself immediately, glancing over to the side.

Laurent had found a comfortable position against the side of the stable and had since begun cleaning his glasses. He looked up after Morgan had quieted herself, a bit shocked. Perhaps it was a misconception, but in the short time he had known Morgan, he didn't think she was one to censor herself.

"Perhaps, but that might take time. She'll need to trust you first," he finally spoke up. He slid his glasses back onto his face.

"Really? You mean it!?" she nearly squealed, eliciting nothing more than an unpleasant grunt from Laurent as his ears rang.

"Ah—yes, I do. Only if you promise to stop yelling."

Morgan nodded eagerly, "I'll come out and see her every day! Can I feed her and wash her too? Oh, Laurent, please! I want to help!" by now, she was inches from Laurent's face with her hands folded in front of her own. Her eyes were shut tight; she was _begging._

"Alright, alright," he gently pushed her out of his personal space. His head was turned, and again he pushed up his glasses. "You can assist in her care, but I don't want any more of this _yelling_. You'll cause the three of us to go deaf."

Morgan smiled brightly, her dark cloud completely cast off, "Aye! Thank you so much," she giggled.

He nodded slowly, a small smile surfacing on his lips as well, "Now, I do believe we should get to training," the seriousness returned immediately.

"Oh, right," she laughed openly now. "I thought you only fought on horseback?"

Laurent stiffened and cleaned his throat, "Perhaps it's time I practiced harder on foot, if you'll be my assistant."

Morgan nodded, "Of course, of course. Let's get going!" she knew better than to grab him, but her eagerness showed in her small quick steps and shuffles towards the door. He eventually got the message and picked up to follow her out.

This time, Morgan's weapon of choice was a tome. Say'ri had taught her some swordplay, even at a young age, and even then she was able to watch her mother train with a blade. However, using a tome was purely something of her own ability, something Say'ri could not teach her how to use. She figured with someone who was skilled in tome usage—like Laurent—she could learn a thing or two about wielding magic.

"Alright, let us assess your abilities once more," he stood opposite her stance, bare of armor just as she. This would be a battle of wits and nothing more. Each took a deep breath and adopted a certain seriousness one needed to work with magic—a seriousness Morgan had yet to master.

Laurent struck the first blow, casting out a line of fire in Morgan's path. It came quicker than she had expected, leaving the only option of flinging herself to the side. Frazzled already, she attempted to cast her own spell as she began to run. It took several tries before she finally got the lightning to strike, and even then it was at the cost of a minor blow. The fire burned incredibly close; it was a miracle it didn't singe her clothes.

Morgan cleared her throat and tried to wipe the subsequent fear off her face. Laurent clearly had the upper hand in a battle of magic, but she wouldn't let him win so easily. She waited and kept to defense, dodging his blows and tricks as the space between them closed.

"Guide me!" she let out a strangled cry as she pushed off the ground, dashing forward to call out another spell. The lightning flashed out in sporadic strikes, one by one. The spectacle lit up the training room and stole the attention of the few others within the space. But the spectacle was short lived. As soon as it died, fire came roaring through the remnants and hit Morgan square in the stomach before knocking her backgrounds.

She hit the ground rough and let out a desperate cry. It had burned, it had _hurt_ , more than she had ever imagined. When her head smacked against the stone, it only made it worse. This was the price she paid for over seriousness, and perhaps an extreme lack of defense. Her world went blurry for a moment, and the sound of hurried footsteps filled ear.

"Morgan!" Laurent called for her, kneeling down to help her sit up.

"Nngh—getting soft on me?" she teased weakly.

He only frowned, "I had expected you to dodge that attack, not run right into it."

"Yeaah… That woulda been a better idea," she let out a strangled groan as Laurent stood up with her on his shoulder.

"Perhaps we should work on your speed next time. For now, let us find you a healer—"

"Only if you promise to keep training with me," she grumbled out. Stubbornness was her strong suit, and she wasn't about to allow Laurent—or any of the Shepherds who had seen her downfall—think less of her. His response came in a grunt; silence followed. Once Brady was summoned, Morgan was laid down to rest in her room.


	5. Chapter 5

Another chapter, this one has a bit of action in: starting to get into the thick of the plot. Also, I really appreciate what reviews I've gotten so far. The insight and enjoyment I'm seeing really makes taking all this time to write the story worth while, so thank you guys!

I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

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What should've taken at least a week to heal, Morgan pegged finished at two days. It was the eagerness arising in her that couldn't keep her in bed, not when she had tactics and fighting styles to study. Or a horse to take care of, as she'd promised. Though she had vowed to take it easy for the day, it didn't save her ears from a bit of lecture when she heard footsteps arise behind her in the stable.

"Morgan! What on earth are you doing out of bed?" Laurent gasped behind her. She winced at the volume of his voice, but continued to slide the brush along the horse's mane.

"I'm all better—and I wanted to come out and see Miriel so—"

"But you should still be resting. All of this can wait until you're healed—we need everyone performing at their best so we can face the risen!"

Morgan rolled her eyes and set aside the brush in turn for her own hand, gently petting the horse along her face, "Well—then I guess you should keep an eye on me today so I don't do anything strenuous, aye?"

Laurent blinked, then pushed up his glasses in annoyance, "I'm not too fond of the idea, but if that's what it takes to keep you at bay, then I will permit you to accompany me on my morning rounds."

"Rounds?" she asked, turning to face Laurent. At the sudden lack of attention, the horse's nose came to nudge Morgan in the back of the head. The gesture shocked them both.

"How long have you been in here?" Laurent frowned.

"Uh…a couple hours?" Morgan guessed. It earned her a disappointed sigh, but the horse was still intent on getting attention.

"I'm glad she's warmed up to you then," Laurent commented. He made his way across the stable, taking the horse's head into his own hands. She accepted the love graciously and nudged against Laurent's face as well.

"Does that mean I can learn to ride her?" Morgan perked up immediately.

Laurent let out a sigh, "I suppose that would be alright. But not until you are healed, at least."

Morgan nodded, "Yay! Then I'll heal up as fast as possible—let's get on those rounds, whatever those are," she giggled in response.

While her enthusiasm was appreciated, Laurent was glad it quelled by the time they re-entered the castle. She followed along like a pup on a leash, sticking close to Laurent's side. He lead her through his schedule, checking on the weapons and armor, the supplies, and then stopping by the training room to assist.

"How do you assist?" she asked. They began the long walk down the hallway, heading for the armory.

"Simple, they value my opinion on what they could do to improve. Observation is one of my specialties, and it has furthered our training."

She gave a shallow nod and lowered her head in thought. The lack of her peppy voice left them in silence, nothing but their footsteps to echo down the hall. It wasn't until they had nearly reached the armory that Morgan piped up again.

"Could you maybe—I dunno—watch me then? I'd like to get better at fighting, especially to be use on the battle field! Mother told me that my father was also an amazing warrior, and I can't be like him at all if I don't master everything."

Laurent raised an eyebrow at the strange reasoning, but the request was acceptable, "Very well. I will be around next time you decide to train. For now, it is time to check on the supplies. We need to take and inventory."

The idea seemed boring, and ever boring was it. Morgan trudged along Laurent as he worked diligently, repeating the same routine he'd kept up ever since he joined this movement. Anything that required the cogs of his brain to spin was his specialty, and he wasn't against boasting proud of it. Practice made perfect, and it didn't take long for him to finish. Laurent seemed able to judge the functionality of armor at first glance. Discerning the supplies took even less time, but the outcome was less pleasant.

"Is something wrong?" Morgan asked, glancing over Laurent's scrunched up face.

"We're lacking supplies is all, so we'll need to begin using them sparingly until we can procure more."

Morgan nodded, "Can't you just go out and buy some?" she asked.

Laurent pushed up his glasses and turned on his heel, exiting the room with Morgan close at his tail, "If only it were so easy. While there has been a period of peace, it has not offered ample time for resources to lower in rarity, so while the nearest town is not far off, the chances they will have the items we require is slim."

"…Oh, sounds rough," she nibbled on her lip. Laurent agreed with a simple nod.

Sitting idly by in the training room was boring. There was something interesting about listening to Laurent's critiques, but nothing at all about sitting on the floor beside his feet. His eyes were elsewhere, on those training. And so were Morgan's. She looked over as the door opened again and saw a familiar pigtailed Pegasus rider enter the room.

Cynthia waved. One glance up to Laurent told Morgan that he was far too busy to notice if she slipped away for a moment or two. So she stood up and dashed across the room to meet her friend half way.

"Hey, hey! How's the healing coming?" Cynthia asked, a bright toothy smile appearing.

"I think I'm fine—but Laurent insists I should rest. But! I wanted to ask if we could train. My defense is suffering, and I need to get better!"

Her plan didn't get very far. If the shadow wasn't enough indication the dread which appeared on Cynthia's face was more than enough. Laurent was behind her, and she could feel it. He was unhappy, especially having overheard her comment. While it was a burden he had taken upon himself, it was still one he enjoyed far less than every other responsibility he had taken.

"That would not be wise. Just a couple more days and you can train all you want—I even promised to assist you," he sighed.

Morgan winced, "Yeah…."

"Oh! If we spar again, Laurent can help tell you how to fix your defense! He's great at that. Without his help I would never have mastered my ultimate move! You gotta take him up on the offer!" Cynthia begged.

Perhaps it would make more sense to just take the advice. Rumors had been circling that Lucina was growing increasingly worried about the risens' growing number. The sooner Morgan was fully healed, the sooner she could assist in preparations, and the sooner they could tackle the enemy. It was logic behind her decision, and even though she detested the idea of waiting around until _approval_ was met, she decided it was in her best interest to wait.

Not three days had passed before Morgan was back on her feet and ready for action. Action that was not in the agenda for the day. Lucina had called another meeting for that morning, one which Morgan was the star. Regardless of her own injuries, the rest of the Shepherds had kept up in their training, and Lucina believed they were ready for an attack.

"Morgan, could you go over the plan again?" Lucina asked. "We'll prepare to march once orders are given and everyone knows their assigned role."

Morgan nodded and smoothed out the map. One by one she ordered roles out to her comrades like a professional. And one by one they left in turn to prepare for battle. Even Lucina was given her orders and she left to prepare. Alone in the room, Morgan let out a sigh as she wound up the map.

"And you, Morgan, just do your best. Like Mother trained you, like Father would want," she breathed happily and made her way towards the door. Outside, Laurent was waiting. The very idea halted Morgan's tracks. She could only stare blankly.

"Fie! You scared me," Morgan laughed. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

Laurent nodded, "I will. I thought it necessary to inquire about your condition, as it was my fault you were injured."

Morgan nodded shallowly, "I'm alright though—don't worry about it!"

Laurent only raised an eyebrow, "You do seem to be in top shape again. However, should the battle cause too much stress on you, I would offer you my support."

"Oh…thank you," she gave a gentle smile. Even if she had no plans to accept the support, it was the thought that counted. Another nod, and he seemed sufficiently happy with her answer. He departed there in order to assemble his own arms. Once he had changed and strapped on his armor tight, he met Cynthia out in the stable. She was saddling up her Pegasus.

"Heya, Laurent," she waved.

He didn't respond with but a wayward glance before continuing onto his horse. The lack of friendliness was far from appreciated, but Cynthia didn't push the issue. The air was sullen, and even her happy attitude could not penetrate the dark cloud. Especially not around Laurent.

He had always disliked going out onto the field, not because he couldn't fight. The exact opposite—he was one of their most powerful assets. The very idea of entering a battle field merely sickened him, if only because he was one of the children who had not just been left at home to never see his parents again. It was that he had witnessed his father's death, and his mother had vanished so perfectly no one had found a body. The battlefield was no place for honor, it was a place of despair. This would be no easy task. Not for any of them.

The sun was shining ironically down as the young Shepherds gathered out for their march. If it wasn't for the off putting silence surrounding them, it might seem like the plan would go off without a hitch. Foreboding omens aside, the march began. Step, step, step in time. It was a well-oiled machine moving across the singed off grass in orderly time and fashion. A sight to behold if there were people brave enough to leave their homes.

If only the march was as peaceful as the day was beginning to let on. It started with a distant growl, easily brushed off as someone who had missed breakfast. Nothing was ever that simple. The distant growl slowly morphed into a lingering grumble, a guttural moan. The horizon was no longer bright and blue, instead overrun with the dark visage of _risen._

"Halt!" Lucina cried. She took an immediate shift: battle stance and hand on her sword.

"What's going on up there?" Severa sneered. There was nothing in the itinerary that mentioned rain of all things. "Is that bad weather? Ridiculous, there is no time for thi—"

"That's not bad weather," Nah replied. She moved next, her hand diving into the bag around her shoulders. The familiar dragon stone sat hidden within; her fingers grasped it tightly.

"What's going on?" Morgan had pushed her way to the front, taking up stance beside Lucina. Ever vigilant, Lucina's line of sight did not waver as she sucked in a deep breath.

"Risen," she barely made out.

Morgan's eyes went wide.

"We could've never planned for this, look at their mass! We must ready for battle!" Lucina ordered, gripping Falchion tightly and drawing her sword.

"Wh-what about the plan!?" Morgan panicked, but her own trembling fingers fumbled around in grasp of her own sword. When she finally drew it, the risen were close enough to make out.

"Think of something, we'll hold them off for now," Lucina commanded. She turned face for only a moment, holding her head high to speak. "Shepherds! We must fight, push the risen back!" Falchion glimmered in the air as Lucina held it. The moment it descended, she pushed off the ground, turned, and began to run.

Morgan stood deathly still, her eyes going blank before her. Her first ever tactic ruined, crushed to the ground by a force she could not have ever hoped to combat. _Irony._ It ate at her to the very core and made her blood boil. Resolve found to late, it was the loud gush of wind that broke her eyelids open again. She watched with a silent shriek as a risen fell and vanished in front of her.

"Keep your eyes open!" Laurent called out. He rode up beside her and came to a halt, his horse rearing up at the sudden stop.

"Wha—?"

"Come, if you must think, then at least think in safety!" he held out his hand for her to take. There was no time for contemplation. Morgan grabbed on and hoisted herself up onto the back of Laurent's horse.

"I-I've never ridden before—"

"Then hold on. Once you've thought up your strategy, you will fight on your own," he grabbed the reigns again and slapped them against the air. Morgan lurched forward and hung onto Laurent as Miriel took off.

Lucina stood separated on the battle field, a hoard of risen between her and Severa, not a few yards over. Morale was down, but Lucina's blade would not be stilled. One after another, she cut down the risen. They fell and evaporated around her. Fighters, mages, archers: one by one. She would not let them get past her.

 _Get the—_

Another fell. Lucina grunted and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Lucina—!" Severa called out. Lucina whirled around only to meet the edge of spell with full force. It knocked into her and sent her spiraling to the ground.

- _giiiirl._

Lucina blinked, motionless on the ground. She looked up, ready to dash to the side and grab her misplaced weapon. But the risen moved right past her. They walked on, trudged further down the path and left her, spared against the ground.

 _Get the girl._

She heard it. The strange moans which had, at first, seemed only as a normal noise which risen uttered, formed into words. Words. Lucina stood up and retook Falchion in her hands. If she was not the girl they were after, she would find and protect whichever among them it was. The risen closing in around a familiar horse made her deduction quite simple.

"Elwind!" Laurent shouted.

His voice was beginning to go hoarse from the spell casting. All of his resources were stretched between spell casting and keeping a close eye on Morgan. He could hear the moans too, the whispers among the risen.

 _Get the girl._

"Laurent—look out!" Morgan nearly jumped to push him forward, just far enough that a hand axe flew right past her face. It grazed her skin, but left no major damage in its wake. Her breath quickened. She looked around hastily, her mind grinding and working faster than she'd ever forced it to before.

"S-surround the risen from the outside!" she called out. Her voice carried far enough to reach the Shepherds battling. "Cynthia, Gerome! From the inside! If they want me, then let them come! We'll take them out easily enough!"

"Are you sure this is a wise idea?" Laurent questioned, straightening his glasses as Morgan slid off the horse.

She shook her head, "No idea. But I have to think like Father. So fight!" she shot back a smirk. It was enough for Laurent. He pulled back the reigns and joined the fray. Morgan took up her sword in turn and dashed off as well. It was time to put her skills to the test.

"Now!" Morgan cried. She pushed off the ground with all her might, the familiar heavy air around her speaking that her reinforcements had arrived. It was comforting and gave her the strength she needed. Her sword cleaved through risen after risen. But they were never ending. For each one she cut down, three more took its place.

"There's too many of them!" Cynthia shrieked.

"This is no time to give up," Gerome replied, calm as ever.

The lack of a third voice chilled Morgan more than any gust of wind could. But there was no wind. None at all. Where was the yelling? The spells? She whirled around, panic rising up in her throat. Instinct carried her legs, and she flew across the battle field faster than any wings could've carried her. Laurent had been guarding her back—how had she'd been so stupid? The whispers were more than just that now, they were loud groans, and the same she had heard back at her secluded home.

 _Get the girl_.

"I am here!" she cried out, lashing out with her blade in the air, coming down hard and fast against the risen. She landed firmly in front of Laurent, who could barely stand from all the blows he'd taken. With Morgan on one side and his horse on the other, he was protected for the most part.

"M-Morgan—" he gasped out.

"I'll take it from here. If I'm the one you want, then come and get me!" she projected, a smirk coming across her face. Sword clutched within her palms, she pushed off the ground and began her attack. Her feet moved like a dance as the blade flew through the air, one strike after another. The risen dodged and evaded best they could, but in the end, Morgan's blade was their undoing.

The sky was darkening when the battle field cleared. There was not a single risen left, but there was not a Shepherd left unharmed either. Even Lucina's knees had hit the ground; it was only her sword that kept her standing. It was only their panting that gave sound to the silent evening. With every risen in their immediate area gone, it was quiet for the first time.

"We…we've won," Lucina breathed out. On shaky legs, she pushed herself to stand. Though it took some effort, she stood tall and projected herself with pride as she looked over the destroyed battle field laden with tired soldiers. She began to trudge along the soiled ground, moving over to where Morgan knelt on the ground. Miriel had since laid down on the ground, and Laurent was leaning against her for support as Morgan looked over his wounds.

"Really I'd be better suited—"

"Fie! Hush yourself," Morgan frowned, "you protected me, it's only right that I look after you because of it."

He sighed, "Whatever debt you think you're paying, you already have when you protected me in turn."

"I wasn't about to let you take all the credit. When we get back to the castle I'll make sure—"

Lucina cleared her throat. She caught their attention amidst the halfhearted conversation. Morgan's fingers lingered for a moment on Laurent's arm before dropping away, her own throat clearing as to cough away the heavy air.

"Thank you, Morgan," Lucina smiled.

"Huh?" Morgan's head tilted in response. Laurent busied himself with replacing the armor he'd lost in order for Morgan to inspect his wounds.

"Your plan got us through in the end."

Morgan shrugged, "They seemed to be coming after me anyway—speaking of, what on earth would a bunch of risen want with me?"

"Now that you mention it, that's highly strange," Laurent interjected. "Before, the risen never seemed to have direction, they merely attacked on instinct. But this time, they were intent on getting to you."

Lucina nodded, "They'd also come after me before. Since I do have the power to destroy Grima…"

"Who's Grima?" Morgan asked. She took the brief pause of utter shock to stand up and brush herself up. She reached down and grabbed ahold of Laurent's hand, hoisting him up as well. The horse followed suit, and by now the other shepherds were also readying for the return march.

"You… don't know who Grima is?" Lucina nearly grimaced at the very idea.

Morgan shook her head.

"Perhaps that's a conversation for another time," Laurent shot a glare from beneath the brim of his hat. Lucina couldn't do anything but concur for the moment. Backwards scolding done, she braced her hand against the sword at her hip and began to walk. Her cape brushed past between Laurent and Morgan as the wind began to blow.

"Let's go back for now, then," Laurent suggested. "You can ride with me."

Morgan's face immediately lit up, "Alright!" She watched as Laurent mounted and settled. It wasn't much more than a moment before he extended his hand. His face was blank of expression, his glasses smudged, but it made Morgan all the happier to see him impervious to the battle's horrors. She grasped his hand and jumped up on the horse as well, sitting close behind him.

One by one, the shepherds joined back up into formation. The battle field was left behind, but its gifts were not forgotten so easily. They were all tired, wounded, and ever more so afraid. Each of them knew it, save the blissfully ignorant Morgan that times were getting worse. And they were getting worse quickly. The solemn hour was upon them, and there would be no peaceful resolution. Not one anyone could see, not with a sky so black. Even the wind smelled of soot.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter is a bit shorter, a good deal actually, but the next chapter is going to be a bit longer so it'll all even out in the end. This is mostly just set up for what's coming next, i promise you it'll be great.

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The atmosphere of the castle was even darker once the Shepherds returned to it. It stayed that way for several days while the wounds as a whole were healing. Morale seemed harder to mend than the bandage wrapped gashes and cuts. For the first day back, the training room was empty and the infirmary full. Morgan's wounds had been minor, against all odds, and she found herself one of the first released. Aside from a few meetings with Lucina discussing the ever present risen issue, Morgan was left to her own devices.

After a week, it was the first day that Morgan didn't spend her time in the infirmary. Fewer and fewer people needed constant attention, so she left in turn. Her wandering lead her back to the library. Amidst its shelves were books upon books about tactics. A few series were missing the first book, but that didn't bother Morgan. The tactics themselves were interesting, but more importantly, she slid her fingers along the hand written notes covering each page.

It was the first volume of a particular set of books, the binding was a deep green, and the book itself was rather thin. She preferred this book to the rest, as it was obviously one of the oldest. The notes in it were extensive, despite the shorter length of its pages. Something about the loosely done binding and hand written words in the margins added to it. If ever a question was raised within its binds, there was a note right there to answer it. This book was short but informative, and of its advice there was one piece she particularly liked, merely for the idea behind it. It proved to be the key factor in her tactic which won them the battle.

 _Fight in pairs. Builds trust and makes stronger._

How true it was, the idea that two heads were better than one. It put a smile on Morgan's face as she thumbed through the book. It would've been a better use of time to read a book she hadn't quite memorized, but this book was something more than studying. It was comfort, even if she didn't know why, it made her feel at ease.

 _"I must say, you performed admirably today," Laurent mused. He seemed weak and shifted along with Miriel's movements._

 _"You weren't half bad yourself," Morgan even let out a laugh, though it burned her throat, already sore from the ragged panting. She was hanging onto the back of Laurent's shoulder armor, and perhaps the only thing keeping the tired young man from falling forward._

 _"If I had to fight with anyone, I must say that I'm glad it's with you. The way you ran to my aid," he paused to suck in a deep breath, "it was truly inspiring. I hope you'll be there in the future."_

 _"What, to fight with you? I've always got your back, literally," she leaned her forehead into his back just to prove the point, but more so to rest her head and neck. She wanted nothing more than to sleep._

 _"I trust you'll keep that promise then," he looked back over his shoulder, if only to grant her a fleeting glance. His lips quivered, tired and unable to smile, but his eyes were enough. Morgan nodded._

"Do you intend to nap in here or study?" a voice yanked Morgan right from her dream. She jumped, shoulders tensed, and her eyes widened at the sudden surprise.

"N-no, I'm studying! She insisted. She scooped up her book and hugged it against her chest, if only to hide the object of her starry eyed fascination.

Laurent gave perhaps the first hint of a laugh since she had met him. His arm was wrapped in bandages and one rested on his face. While the whole visage looked a bit out of place, the laugh was even more so. But Morgan couldn't help but smile in return. She set the book down and flipped open to her page again; Laurent sat down in the meantime, keeping his eyes locked on the small tactical guide.

"What are you studying? I don't believe I've read this one," he tapped the book lightly with his finger.

"It's a book about tactics. On the bottom shelf, so probably not important. I've read almost all of them, but this is my favorite," she smiled and held up the book then. She pointed to the page with the particular note about working in pairs. "This is why. It's what helped me come up with tactics for our last battle—even if it didn't turn out so great," she chuckled nervously.

Laurent pushed up his glasses and leaned in close to read it. After a nod, he leaned back again and positioned himself so that the majority of his weight was on the table. He was still recovering after all, but was determined to not spend all of his recovery time in an infirmary bed. After a few days, he was beginning to understand why Morgan had been so insistent on not resting—it was dreadfully boring.

"The bottom shelf, you say? I don't believe I've read any of those books then. Would you mind if I joined you then? Tactics have always interested me," he began stiffly.

Morgan brightened up; her eyes shone and her smile grew on her face, "I would love that—I mean—yeah! You can join me," she ended with a laugh before jumping out of her seat. She nearly banged her knees into her chair with her speedy turn, but after a few stumbles over her own feet, she made it to the shelf behind her to grab some books. She grabbed the rest of the series, as well as a few singular books, and one very small leather bound pad that was entirely hand written.

"I've read them all. These are some of the best," she explained as she slammed the large stack onto the table. Laurent was a little shocked at the amount of reading this would entail, especially for one who seemed more interested in messing around as Morgan was.

"Really?" he wondered, taking the first one off the stack.

She nodded, "And the rest on the shelf. There aren't that many, but I love tactics. Mother always said that Father was an amazing tactician, and since I decided I wanted to be one just like him! I mean—I have to take her word anyway. But being a tactician sounds cool."

"You have to take her word?" the wording was odd enough to make Laurent look up from the book. He'd already skimmed the first page of the first volume. The hand written notes made it rather difficult.

"I never knew my father," she picked up the small leather bound pad. "But, I know he must've had something to do with all of your parents, because look," she held it out.

Laurent set down the green book and took the pad in turn. After straightening his glasses, he thumbed through it, "Marvelous penmanship. Who wrote it?" he wondered.

"The back, flip to the last page," Morgan was nearly jumping in place at the very prospect. It was endearing, if anything. Laurent flipped to the last page, which held only one word. A name, rather: Kilian.

"Kilian?" he wondered.

Morgan nodded, "Yes! That was my father's name. All of these books belonged to him!"

Laurent closed the pad and set it down, leaning back into the chair, "Strange, I never heard of a Kilian. Before my parents—well," he grimaced slightly and shifted so that Morgan couldn't see his face beneath the brim of his hat. "They told me stories about their adventures, but never mentioned a Kilian."

Morgan frowned, "You're just forgetting then. Mother told me all sorts of stories about Father. He was an amazing tactician who planned Chrom's way through the war with Plegia and with Valm!"

While he had wanted to argue back that no such person had ever existed, he decided to let it go. He had heard the stories long ago, after all, and perhaps his memory wasn't as clear as he liked to imagine. And without growing up with her father, the last thing Morgan needed was her image of him crushed. The very idea sickened him as well, formed a lump in his throat. If he had grown up without a father as well, he would've wanted only the most heroic picture of Vaike to be portrayed for him.

"I must be mistaken then," Laurent ended.

Morgan smiled again and sat down, "We can read the books together, if you like? Then you can help with strategy. Mother said that she was Father's partner in tactics, especially during the war against Valm. She knew the land better. I think it'd be like that! You know this land better than me, so any help—"

"Gladly. Shall we begin then?" Laurent reopened the green book, starting on the first page. Morgan scooted her chair closer and leaned in to see the book as well. A lot of the original words were smudged by the hand written notes, but Morgan had read the book so many times, she knew what it all said.

"Here, it talks about the basics…" she started. Laurent listened carefully, his own ever watchful eyes scanning the words in time with Morgan's voice: until the voice in his head mimicked hers perfectly.

Studying together became a habit, one they purposefully made time for every day. It became an event to look forward to, so much so that Morgan would join Laurent on his morning rounds just to make sure he wouldn't be late. Not that he ever was. It wasn't often, but every once in a while they would forgo studying in turn for horseback riding lessons. A quid pro quo sort of deal, but it was the company that really mattered.

However, not every day was destined to fall so perfectly into routine. In the middle of their daily reading, having finally reached the final book in the series, the library door opened none too quietly. Owain walked in, a bit of panic strewn across his features. Whatever it was, it had the book slammed shut in an instance.

"We're holding an emergency meeting. You guys might want to join—Lucina's got some bad news," Owain said. His sudden seriousness was enough for Laurent and Morgan to start worrying as well.

"We'll be right there then," Laurent answered for the both of them. Owain went on his way after that. Their eyes met once the room was clear; Morgan was chewing on her lip, something akin to worry rising into her glance.

"We should go see what the meeting is about. Studying will have to wait."

She agreed without hesitation and stood up. He followed suit, and they quickly made their way down the hallway to the meeting room. Most everyone was already gathered inside; presumably Owain was still out gathering Kjelle.

"We can begin without them for now," Lucina decided. Her bangs were pasted to her forehead, as though she'd been sweating. Something about her movements was fidgety, like mere moments had aged her years.

"I received word not long ago from a villager—he's still here," she stepped off to the side, giving way for an older man to take the stage. It was his cue to begin speaking.

"I—I live in a village near the border of Regna Ferox. I barely m-made it out alive—the risen suddenly attacked in such a large number. W-We couldn't handle them, a-and people were dying. I ran a-as fast as I could, b-but—but they weren't far behind. S-Several villages gave me refuge on t-the way here, a-and I heard tell that we weren't the o-only ones a-affected—"

"Risen are growing in number!?" Cynthia interjected. "But I was just out the other day! It didn't look like _that_ much more!"

The man visibly shook, "H-How close do you go to the borders!? To Plegia!? To Ferox!?" his eyes went wide—as if her being out on patrol meant she could've saved them. The idea was ludicrous, but the man hadn't slept in days.

"N-Not very," she settled quickly.

"Risen haven't had this high of numbers since—for a while now," Lucina corrected herself. She couldn't recall the exact number, not with this much stress bearing down on her shoulders. There was no evidence as to _why_ risen numbers had been low as of late, but to know now that they were rising again—and rapidly—was beyond unnerving. It sent a cold chill through her very bones.

"Well, we've got to do something," Morgan interjected. By now, she too had taken on a look of fear. "But…" she had no solution.

"If only my father were still here," Lucina collapsed into a chair, hanging her head into her hands. An aura of defeat rose up from around her. The very mention of a parent sent the room into despair, even Owain and Kjelle, who had just entered, could not escape its darkened grasp.

"If your father was anything like my mother," Morgan stood up, "he must have trained you, right?" she wore a strained smile.

Lucina looked up, "A bit…yes. He died when I was still young…" she trailed off. Her hands dropped and she raised her head, "But, he left me his sword—Falchion, the legendary blade."

Morgan put her hands on her hips, "Now I don't know about any legends, but I know that if your father could've fixed this, and he trained you, then you can fix it too! They're just a couple of risen. Fie, we could take them out in an hour. Why give up when we haven't tried yet?"

"She's got a point! Come on, Lucy, we can't give up now!" Cynthia jumped up in support.

Lucina let out a weak laugh, "You're right. There's no sense in moping. Morgan! I hope you'll join me again in preparation for a strategy. If it's as you said, we should be able to launch another attack—and soon."

Morgan nodded, "Laurent can help too. He's been studying with me," she smiled.

Laurent pushed up his glasses, "While I may not be entirely useful, I will strive to assist in any way I can."

Lucina smiled, "Perfect. Until then, make sure you are all well-equipped and ready to march. We'll need to take along extra provisions this time and things to set up camp. We'll be heading all the way to Regna Ferox it seems."

"Unless we meet them half way again," Morgan began. "I think it'd be best to pick a spot. If what this man says is right, they're coming this way anyway. We should conserve our energy."

"I concur," Laurent cleared his throat, "if they will be anything like the previous battle—which was out of the ordinary anyway—it would be wise to let them come to us."

It was decided then, that the best course of action would be as suggested. They would pick a place and set up a small camp, and thus the waiting game would begin. There was only time left now to strategize and plan their means of attack. Most of that could be left to wait. Only so much could be planned ahead, and Lucina wanted a firm base on the field before they got knee deep in tactics. Until then, they would prepare.

The training room had never been busier; weapons were loaded into a caravan along with food and tents. While Morgan still set aside to do some training, her time was spent on the sidelines as Lucina required her help for planning the expedition and the eminent attack afterwards. Before they knew it, the march was upon them. The sky was still a pale, unhappy gray when the Shepherds mobilized. As per the plan, Cynthia and Gerome would fly ahead to ensure a clear path and warn of any risen on the move. Laurent was rather immobilized as his horse had to pull along their supplies.


	7. Chapter 7

Took me a bit to get this one out, sorry! Been busy at my new job and all, so it sorta slipped my mind. But, like I promised, this chapter is a little longer and a bit more dramatic, so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks, as always!

* * *

Everything was beyond normal. By the time they had reached their designated location, even the sky had turned a pleasant cloudy blue: as much as it was able to. The area was clear and flat, so setting up a camp wasn't too difficult. Something about it put Lucina in a good mood, though she busied herself with the manual labor of it all. It reminded her of stories her parents had told her about their own escapades in camp.

"It's almost like we've really become the Shepherds, isn't it?" Lucina mused to herself. Kjelle, beside her, heard the comment. But she didn't reply. It was ease enough to know Lucina could still find some sort of joy among her stress.

A loud growling echoed throughout the camp. One after another, growling came and lingered in the still cold air of the night. It would die off every now and again, but it would return louder each time. Louder and fiercer, more threatening. Something was on the horizon. Not even the clouds of a storm could match the speed at which the horror was upon the small camp, but it didn't take long for one shrill shriek of a soldier to permeate the very soil of which the camp resided upon.

"Risen!" another soldier called right after. The sound that followed was ungodly.

"Wh-what's going on!?" Morgan was the last to get up in her tent, but she was just as panicked as the rest.

"Risen are attacking! We gotta fight back and protect the camp!" Cynthia informed her quickly. It was like clockwork as the pigtailed girl grabbed for Morgan's sword and tossed it. Morgan caught it in one hand as she stood, her other hand grabbing her tome off the ground beside her. Traveling made for one convenience, and that was sleeping in clothes.

But there was no time for armor.

Morgan dashed out of the tent, having barely been able to pull on her coat. The camp outside was chaos at its finest, risen were flooding in at top notch speeds. Morgan's eyes looked around, panic washing her away. Soldiers were fighting them off the best they could, but the horrible whisper still raised through the air

 _Get the girl._

"Morgan!" Cynthia's voice snapped her free. "My Pegasus!"

Sure enough, Cynthia's Pegasus let out loud shrieking cries as she too was a target. Morgan nodded sternly, a seriously look setting across her brow, and the two took off together. Morgan took point and raised her sword high into the air. After a dark war cry, she brought her blade down through the risen. Once, twice, the risen vanished before her eyes. In a second, Cynthia was at her side to block the attack of another risen.

"I'll hold them off, get your Pegasus," Morgan commanded. Cynthia had taken a turn for a serious demeanor as well, and it meant business. She nodded in turn and dashed off. She ducked beneath the risen, the sound of Morgan's magic now blasting through the air behind her. Risen fell beside her and behind her; Morgan was careful to keep a path cleared.

Cynthia grabbed holds of the Pegasus's reigns and subdued the beast near instantly. Not another moment passed before Cynthia mounted and was ready to ride. Morgan couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, a smile on her lips, but it didn't last for long. The Pegasus came bearing down inches from her heal, the lance came next as Cynthia skewered a risen.

"Keep an eye out! We'll need ya," Cynthia gave a quick cheerful smile before taking off again. Morgan straightened her coat and nodded. She took off again, wishing a silent prayer of luck to her knighted friend, and headed towards the heart of the camp. She could hear the familiar sound of Nah becoming a dragon, and simultaneously the ear shattering roar of Minerva as she took to the sky.

Something horrifying was taken place, and each time her eye glanced another direction, Morgan saw yet another child, hair still mused from sleep. Even Kjelle lacked her Knight armor, and was left in simple clothes with a lance in her hand.

"A—A little help here!" Kjelle called out, her shoes sinking into the soft dirt beneath them as she held back a risen. Morgan took the call and dispatched the monstrosity immediately. She took up place besides Kjelle, sword at the ready to take on the oncoming risen.

"Where's Lucina?" Kjelle began. They moved forward to attack, the risen meeting them head on. This wasn't going according to plan. Not at all.

"What do you mean?" Morgan let out a grunt, ripping her sword back and out of the vanishing body of a risen.

"I haven't seen her since I got up! If we lose Lucina—it'll all be for nothing!" Kjelle seemed panicked about the situation.

"What do you mean!?" Morgan didn't understand the implication, and it distracted her for a split second. She felt the horrid pain rush through her as a sword pierce the fabric of her coat and the skin of her arm. She cried out, sidestepping as Kjelle thrust her lance into the risen's chest.

"Don't you know anything!? She has exalted blood—she can perform the Awakening which will stop Grima and all this—this madness!" she destroyed risen after risen as she spoke, her brow set into anger at this point.

Morgan's eyes went wide. No, she had never been informed of Lucina's true potential. While she wasn't clear on the details either, especially not on Grima, it was important to Kjelle. She was sure if she asked anyone else, had there been time, they would be just as concerned about it.

"I'll find her," Morgan decided. She abandoned Kjelle then and dashed off in no certain direction. Her eyes searched the skies in a panic. Where was Cynthia? Had she been struck down? It was a gust of wind that gave her headway, a gust that only the wings of a Pegasus could make.

"Cynthia!" Morgan called. It was a horrific sight, to see the once gloriously white winged horse tinged with blood. Cynthia was in bad shape, and if not for the arrow in the young woman's shoulder, Morgan might have thought nothing of it.

She dashed into action immediately and charged upon the bow armed risen. She cut them down, one by one, but the damage could not be undone regardless. Cynthia landed steadily on the ground and reached hastily into her bag. She pulled out the vial of a vulnerary in some attempts to heal herself quickly.

"I need a ride, we have to find Lucina. She's missing," Morgan started. She didn't ask permission before climbing onto the Pegasus, if only to look at Cynthia's shoulder. Missing armor was doing them no good, but there had been no time.

"We'll find her," Cynthia nodded, then winced as Morgan broke the wood of the arrow.

"When we do, drop me off. Then you find Brady," she ordered. Cynthia was in no place to argue, so she nodded.

"Hold on tight, then! It could get bumpy," her smile was forced, but enough. The Pegasus took off to the air then, shooting off to the north end of the camp. It was imperative that they locate Lucina. The Pegasus dashed through the sky, soaring along until it reached the edge of the camp, and that was when their princess's deep blue hair was spotted. She was not surrounded by risen, she was not outnumbered and on the verge of defeat. Rather, she faced perhaps the largest risen they had seen to this day, a monster armed with a sword and an axe, covered head to toe in armor.

"There! Take me there!" Morgan cried.

Lucina's blade met the monster's axe in turn, and she let out a loud grunt as her arms strained to fight back. The risen was powerful, far more so than she'd expected. But it was obvious it was commanding this army. The loud cries it gave were battle commands, and the risen followed. Lucina let out another grunt and finally pushed back the blade, just in time to block it again as it crashed down faster than the last. But this time, she heard footsteps beside her.

"Hyaagh!" Morgan cried, dropping down through the air. Her strike was not meant to kill, only to buy time as it landed hard against the risen's arm. It cried out again, stumbling backwards and freeing Lucina for a moment. They bounced back and met up side to side, blades pointed straight forward and readying to face the risen again.

"Thanks for joining me," Lucina managed out between battered breath. Just quick enough for the risen to lunge again.

"Face us both!" Morgan said in reply. They met the monster head on, together. Their cries mixed with its shrieks. A loud clang echoed out through the vicinity. Two enemies meant two weapons, and the risen drew his sword as well. Morgan barely escaped a dire wound as she deflected it with the edge of her own, and Lucina managed to block the axe. But it was a struggle.

With the sword planted firmly in the ground now, Morgan dashed around in attempts to land a blow. But the risen moved quickly. A loud cry gave wind to her victory as she slashed across the chest of the creature, but it pulled both its weapons back now and took liberty to run her down head first. She hit the ground hard, but at the call of her name was back on her feet again.

Lucina was locked in a match of metal as their blades clashed and clashed again. Her fighting style was flashy, if anything, but sure and true. She dashed forward, blade pointed forward, and impaled the creature. Morgan smiled wide, a waterfall of relief washing over her as it seemed done. Lucina pulled her sword back, expecting the risen to drop and vanish. But instead it raised a vicious war cry and swung its own armored limb through the air and knocked Lucina to the side. Falchion left her grasp and landed off into a patch of grass.

"Lucina!" Morgan dashed forward, hitting the ground beside the fallen royal. Lucina grunted, but sat up without assistance. Words didn't need to be spoken. Morgan stood again and grasped her own sword tighter in her fist. She stepped over Lucina's tired legs to reach the sword before any risen could grab it. The large commander had designs for the blade as well.

Morgan scooped it up, only to turn and be met head on with the blades of the risen. She'd been told Falchion would work for none other than those of exalted blood, and that was fine. It would do nicely as her shield in time of need, and she crossed the two swords above her head to block the blow. She pushed it back, not missing an opportunity to land a blow herself, before she ducked to the side and tossed Falchion through the air. Lucina opened up out of a rolling dive through the air and caught Falchion as though she'd trained to do it her entire life. The hilt landed within her palm just in time to absorb enough momentum to pierce the risen yet again.

But still the monstrosity would not go down. Lucina landed on the ground, Morgan at her side again, and their eyes met with the glowing red eyes of the risen. Blow after blow, hit after hit, the risen wouldn't go down. Its cries got louder and louder, and the monsters poured in. The visage of the camp was one of ruins and dead bodies, Shepherds fighting endlessly against risen in the command of this very enemy.

It raised its sword again, the blunt side forward. This was a different move, a strange move. Morgan caught it with skilled eye. This was not meant to be a lethal blow, or even one to cause injury. No. If the risen had meant harm with this blow, it might've used the axe—which it seemed to favor. This was something far different.

"Lucina! Look out!" Morgan cried. She gripped her sword and dashed, pushing Lucina aside. Her attempt had been to block the blow, but it failed. A blow to separate, she had deduced. And she was right, and had run right into the trap.

The blade hit her right across the chest. The blow was forceful, it knocked her breath away as well as her body. She hit the ground hard, rolling along the rocky, barren dirt, and landing not inches away from a rock aimed to crush her skull had she hit it hard enough. One glance up and Morgan was suddenly wishing that rock had been her undoing. There was something, a familiar male voice calling her name. But it sounded like a whisper as she picked herself up on wobbly arms.

She crawled forward, her fingers reaching out for the blurred sight before her. She collapsed again, but drug herself forward. The call of her name was a faint, distant murmur. Purple filled her eyes, a dark purple lined with fur at the collar. A coat.

"Morgan!" the voice reached her. It was Laurent, followed up by the clop of his horse's hooves along the ground. The sound of lightning followed. Morgan didn't care anymore. She pushed herself back up, dragging herself along the dirt until she could touch the coat. What she saw beyond only made her eyes widen, her lip quiver. A golden blade, barbs at the side.

A loud thump pulled her from her morbid thoughts. With the assistance of Laurent's magic, Lucina had managed to bring the risen down for good. It vanished within moments, and the two turned their sights on Morgan. Luck was not on their side, as new trouble rose up on the small hill. The commander was gone, but it merely saved them from more risen from appearing. Those among the hoard in the camp had found them.

"We'll hold them off for now, then," Lucina decided, taking up stance beside Laurent's horse. He nodded slowly. His attention was stolen away.

Morgan reached out, her fingers slowly wrapping around the hilt of the blade. Her mouth moved, her lips made the word, but she could not speak it. Behind her, the battle raged. Laurent flung his magic into the crowd of risen, but more took their place. Each time one fell, another was there. The plight of those still in camp was no better.

"Is there no end to these creatures?" Laurent would never admit he was losing hope, but his voice hinted that he was. It meant nothing to speak, he and Lucina had been separated. And neither seemed to have an advantage against the monsters. Not now. Bit by bit, Laurent couldn't keep up with the onslaught. Battered and used up tomes scattered across the ground as he burned through them one by one in attempts to keep the risen back. But that horrid whisper still floated about.

 _Get the girl._

Risen passed him by like he was nothing. It was time for some serious up close fighting, fighting that took less time. He shoved the tome back into his side bag and drew forth a sword. Perhaps he was losing sight of logic now, but he kicked back into Miriel's side and reared backwards. Morgan hadn't noticed, but she was under attack. It was all he could do to make it to her in time. And even then, his horse was easily spooked now. She let out a loud cry and went back on her hind legs. By the time she came down, Laurent was on the ground.

"Morgan, snap out of it!" he called to her now. Perhaps falling had been convenient, he was closer. But she wasn't listening. He barely had time to scramble off the ground before he met blade to blade with a risen.

"Morgan!" Laurent was desperate now. He couldn't keep this up for long, even if the horizon seemed lighter. The risen were definitely moving to the losing side, something Laurent was grateful for. He only hoped it would last, and with Morgan at his heel still weak against the ground, he knew he'd have to keep it that way.

One risen after the next, he fought them off with blade and tome alike, whatever worked for the moment. It was surreal to fight on foot again, but it was the best he could manage for now. He fought until Lucina raised the call. There were still risen roaming, but the majority were gone, they had to leave now lest risk more casualties. With the battle field nearly cleared, it was easy to see the land around them. They were close to Ferox as it was, it had been nearly a week, and no one had before noticed the wreckage of a previous battle scattered across the ground.

That's when Laurent turned back to Morgan. Her eyes were blank, like she hadn't seen him or the battle they had just fought. Even now, his voice would not reach her. She had grasped the coat close to her chest, and long abandoned her blade for the golden once she had found.

"We have to go, Morgan. Come on," Laurent knelt down to attempt to reach her. But she only muttered quietly.

"Amatsu… Amatsu…" her voice was barely audible. He gave up quickly after that. His horse returned to him quickly after a high pitched whistle, and she provided his means of escape. He hoisted Morgan up into his arms and then up onto the horse. It was tedious, attempting to mount the horse, as he had to hold Morgan up as well. Her body was limp, something about this coat had thrown her into shock.

"Laurent, what's going on with her?" Lucina asked, trudging over to him. They would return down to camp together.

"I don't know. She's gone into shock, but I'm sure we can fully examine and question her when we return to the palace," he replied boringly. It seemed to satisfy Lucina; she nodded. Her mind seemed elsewhere, obviously by the way her eyes wandered over the remaining risen. They seemed to have lost direction.

More than one Shepherd collapsed when they finally arrived back within the safety of the castle walls. Not two steps in, Laurent was the first to drop. The road had been long, and he'd been supporting Morgan the entire day, and even then he'd carried the petite girl in. Her golden sword clamored against the ground and she rolled away along with it. She was more concerned with keeping a tight hold on the coat than she was protecting herself, and she ended face against the floor.

In a pitiful display, Laurent crawled to her and rolled her onto her back. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and those who had managed to keep standing laid witness to what unfolded. Laurent helped her sit up, she gave a weak smile, and let the coat fall into her lap as she wrapped a hug around his neck. Maybe it was the weakness of battle, the tiredness of marching that fogged his usually detached demeanor, but Laurent hugged her back.

"Th-thank you f-for this," she whispered out, letting go. He supported her still, watching closely as her hands grasped for the coat again. By then, Cynthia had come over as well, though she kept a good distance. Lucina had come closer as well, close enough to kneel down on the ground to meet Morgan's eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that, but I…" Morgan started. Her voice was weak, if anything, and it was obvious she was still shaken up from the event. She clutched the coat closer. Laurent eyed it curiously, watching as her fingers curled into the fabric, and her knuckles went white with the force. The silence was heavy as they waited for her to speak.

"I guess I always…sorta knew but—but I never wanted to admit it to myself. This…" she pulled the coat away from her chest, giving those who had gathered close a view of what it was. Lucina had taken up the blade that had fallen and gave that view as well.

"They belonged to my mother," Morgan choked out. "I-I should've known when she never returned, but… It never occurred to me," she laughed weakly, some semblance of bravery amidst a world of pain in her chest.

"Your mother?" Laurent exclaimed.

Morgan nodded, "She left me so long ago to fight risen, she said. That's when she gave me this coat and—and told me that there would be others like me who had to fight and—" tears cut her off, hard body shaking tears. But she tried to hold them back, tried to remain some shred of face.

"Who was your mother?" Lucina asked. "Perhaps we might have heard of her as well?" Maybe it would offer comfort, but it was a farfetched idea. An idea to mask the need for information.

"H-Her name was…was Say'ri," she said, looking up from the coat. She wiped her eyes. It was the reaction next that had her suddenly wanting to vanish, that caused her to sit up on her own and relinquish all contact with Laurent.

"Say'ri?" Lucina asked. She exchanged glances with some of the others, are equally confused.

"I've never heard of a Say'ri, not from my parents at least."

Morgan's eyes went wide, "Wh-what do you mean you haven't—?!" but she stopped short, tears threatening to fall again. "I won't—I won't believe it! Say'ri was my mother, and she fought alongside your stupid parents as well!"

She stood with her mother's equipment and stole from the room on quick panicked feet.

"Morgan—!" Cynthia tried, but it was no use. She was gone for now, and there were other things to worry about.

It was later that evening when Laurent knocked on the door to the study. Lucina could always be found there, it was a small private room which had previously been occupied by Chrom in order to plan attacks: as they'd been told. She appeared, just as he predicted, not seconds after his knock. She'd been looking more and more tired recently.

"Sorry to bother you," Laurent interjected, moving to the room as he was directed.

"It's not a bother at all. Did you need something?" She asked kindly.

"In regards to earlier. I realize it's late, and perhaps we should both be resting at this hour in light of injuries, but I feel this is important," he pushed up his glasses as the two took a seat at the small rectangle table.

Before Lucina could inquire about his means of interest, Laurent produced a small leather bound pad. He flipped to the back to produce the name scrawled on the back, the very same that Morgan had shown him weeks earlier. She inspected it briefly before meeting Laurent's eyes, something like confusion her own. She tried to hide it, looking intuitive and understanding, but there was no way she would've known.

"During my time with Morgan, we began to study together in the library. She's very knowledgeable in tactics, and this is one of the books she procured for me to read. She was quite fond of it and bragged profusely about the author here, Kilian."

"Kilian? Was he a famous tactician?" Lucina wondered. She took the pad for herself and began to flip through it.

"I would assume so, none I'd ever heard of though. She not only claims that Kilian was her father, but that he worked alongside Chrom in both the war with Plegia and Valm," he informed.

"What? That can't be right—Father never spoke of a Kilian. Did your parents?" She wondered. She'd brought the pad closer to her eyes now, reading the tactics he had written. Some of them seemed similar, if not exact, to the battle stories she'd been told as a young girl.

Laurent shook his head, "Neither have I heard of him. But, she claims Kilian to be her father. Logically speaking, he and Say'ri must have been married and companions along the same time. If he left things behind in this castle, there is nothing to say she did not either. Nor that there might be more, should we look."

"Are you suggesting… He might have left something behind?" she wonders.

Laurent shrugged, "It's a place to start, at least. Morgan knows nothing except what her mother told her, which appear to be the same stories we were told, but with two extra people. Perhaps the missing link can be found within left behind objects of Kilian. If he left a book, he might have left more."

"A missing link? How can you be sure though… Perhaps they were merely unimportant assets to the army?" she tried. It didn't fit with the image of her father to lie or leave out details.

"I talked to the others as well. No one had before heard of Say'ri, I assume they haven't heard of Kilian as well. This isn't a coincidence, and I propose we look further into it. At your discretion, I will conduct a search of the castle in attempts to locate some information."

Lucina nodded, "We have nothing else to go on as it is, it couldn't hurt. I'll help you in your search, if you'd like," she offered.

Laurent nodded, "That would be much appreciated. For the time being, I'm going to spend some time with Morgan after my duties are completed."

"Alright. If you find anything, let me know," she gave a gentle smile. Laurent excused himself then, weaving away from the table upon retrieving Kilian's pad back from the princess. He left the room immediately after to make good on his word. Searching was important, but perhaps prior knowledge would do him better.

Morgan was sitting on the edge of her bed, inspecting the sword before her. She'd lost her own on the battlefield, and it seemed no one had grabbed it before they left. This was all she had, and she figured she could use it with a bit of training. It would be a piece of her mother she could carry with her, as the coat was a part of her father. The idea made her smile, though the sound of a knock wiped it right off.

"Come in," she replied. She quickly set aside the sword, but Laurent was quicker to enter than she was to hide what she'd been doing. Laurent let out a sigh when he saw her, but couldn't hold it against her. She wasn't one to just laze in bed.

"You're supposed to be resting," he scolded lightly.

"I can't," came her lack luster reply. It shocked Laurent, but he brushed it off as he approached her. He moved to the opposite side of the bed, his eyes locked on the sword. It was a unique sword, one he was interested in learning about.

"That sword, do you know anything about it?" he wondered. He gave her a glance, silently asking for a place to sit. He received it and sat down on the bed, reaching out for the sword.

"It's called Amatsu," Morgan started. "I'm told it belonged to my uncle. I'm not sure you would know him since you don't know the rest of my family," the bitterness in her voice was astounding.

"There's a chance?" he attempted, but it didn't quell the frustration etched into her brow.

"His name was Yen'fay, Mother told me. Due to some unpleasant circumstances—"

"Yen'fay?" Laurent acted in surprise, "I have heard that name. He had sided with the empire and lead troops against the Ylissean army."

It was Morgan's turn to be confused, "Yes… That's the story Mother told me. She was forced to fight against him and struck him down, later learning that it was the threat of her death that kept Yen'fay with the empire!"

Laurent shook his head, "That's a part I've never been told. Though I admit, the story was rather vague."

Morgan sighed, "It doesn't matter, I guess. I'm going to try to train with it, maybe use it from now on. I want to be able to fight better, like you did when you protected me," she laughed weakly.

"I will gladly assist you, if you should require."

"I would appreciate it, thank you. I think I want to rest now," she slunk farther down into her bed, in some attempts to disappear.

He nodded and stood to take his leave. Something caught his thoughts as he reached the door, and he turned around to glance at Morgan. She'd turned her back to him, and was obviously waiting for him to go so she could resume her reminiscing.

"We are attempting to locate any records or books left behind by your father and mother. It may mean nothing, but it may perhaps fill the void we've all been left with," he informed.

Silence was his answer. He hadn't been expecting a response, but one might have been pleasant regardless. Something to let him know that his efforts would bear fruit against this newly harbored bitterness. It was unsettling to see her in such a state, and if results would give way to her smile again, he would work all the more diligently to achieve it. It was this resolve he carried with him as he left the room and rounded the corner. This resolve that prompted an uncharacteristic skipping of his previous duties; all in turn for searching and perhaps even discovering something of note. He figured the library would be a good place to start and headed there with all due promptness.

What surprised him, upon arriving to the maze of books, was seeing Lucina held up at a rounded table. There were books stacked up around her, and before her was a stack of papers. She seemed immersed in her work, flipping through the different pages and studying them profusely. It wouldn't have taken a genius to realize she was searching, but only Laurent knew just what she was searching for. It was awe inspiring that she had already begun.

"Lucina, it's a surprise to see you here," Laurent tactfully approached her.

She looked up, her shoulders tensing at the sudden sound, but she calmed quickly, "Oh, hello, Laurent. I really am running low on things to do, now that everyone is infirm, that is."

"You should be as well, but then again I am in no place to speak. I still admire your diligence on the matter."

"It's nothing really. The sudden increase of risen is just…worrisome. I knew the threat of Grima wouldn't just disappear, but I didn't think it would get this bad so quickly. The more I thought about it, the more I'm thinking that this Kilian might be our missing link. Maybe it never made sense before, but do you remember what the risen keep muttering?"

"'Get the girl'… Yes, and their behavior would lead you to believe that Morgan is the girl they are speaking of…" it made sense. Perhaps the key to understanding why these monsters were so fascinated with Morgan was understanding her origin. After all, there seemed a void left in the wake of her parents, and it seemed unlikely that she would've simply appeared out there in the field where she was found.

"Shall I help you look, then?" He offered kindly.

Lucina nodded, "That'd be great. Maybe start at the other end? The library is pretty big, we can chip it apart bit by bit!"

Laurent nodded, "I've read a great deal of these books already, so it shouldn't be difficult to recall if they are records or not."

The help was appreciated on both parts, but they parted ways there. Lucina stayed at her table to thumb through books and old records while Laurent moved to the back end of the library. He had spent many a rainy afternoon amongst these shelves, reading through the books left behind by the castle's previous inhabitants. He found everything from battle to botany, and though the collection seemed incomplete and sparse, the books were interesting all the same. He was tempted to sit down and read them again, but the pressing time advised against it.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter's a bit shorter, sorry for the long pause in between: been busy with work and such.

* * *

The search continued day after day. Laurent would visit Morgan after his morning routine, and she would tell him a new story about her parents. The stories were always similar, nearly exact on every detail save the addition of two people. He committed each to memory, a memento of what had been lost. Of what he had to find. And so he would search again alongside Lucina. By the third day, they had cleared through the library and moved to the study. The study took only a few hours before they'd searched every nook and cranny within its walls.

Searching of guest rooms, the kitchen, dining hall, and even the throne room began the next day and continued on. Nothing ever came up from any of the searches, and by the end of a two week time period with the exact same schedule, the entire castle had been searched without a single piece of paper to show. It was draining, if nothing else, but there were other things that needed focused on. Everyone was cleared to begin training and living normally again, after their injuries had healed. Laurent knew this, but it never occurred to him that Morgan would take the first moment she could to worm back into the training room.

He should've seen it coming, if anything, but finding Morgan's room empty after all this time was a bit of a shock. Amatsu missing from her table was the only hint he needed to find her. He turned heel immediately and dashed back down the hallway. It might have been excitement that worked his legs, or apprehensiveness that she was up and training again. But that was trivial, pushed aside for the sheer awe he felt upon opening the door to the training room.

She stood alone in the middle of the room, her elbows raised, and a sword grasped tightly in her hand. Her stance was offensive though she had no opponent. He watched silently from the sidelines, his head alight with observant thoughts, as she took her first step forwards. The ones that followed were that of a dance, like that sword had been crafted for this very moment. It lead her along, as a partner in battle, through the steps. The way her arms moved, extended and retracted, was like water. If it had not been utterly, obviously clear that she was alone, Laurent might have thought someone was holding onto her to help her move.

"It's like that sword was made for you," he commented. He cleared his throat immediately after, trying to regain a cool composure.

Morgan jerked in surprise, but made careful attention to not drop her weapon, "You… you think so?"

Laurent nodded, "Well, you use it skillfully. I believe it will do you well in battle, at least. Perhaps we could train together again?"

A smile lit up on Morgan's face, "Yes! I'd like that. We could take time out from studying—unless you didn't want to do that anymore," she took a few small steps towards him.

"We can do both, there's plenty of time in a week. Should schedule permit, perhaps we could do both in the same day. But you must be willing to stick to a plan."

"Aye! I'll get up early every day and be ready to help out—if that gets things done quicker so we can train," she offered. But something about it seemed off. Laurent observed her, watched closely as she wrung her hands around the hilt of the sword, holding it close to her chest. Her eyes seemed strained. Though her smile was genuine, something in her eyes spoke a different story. A familiar story, one of loss and pain. Laurent knew it all too well.

"Perhaps we should begin now," he offered a source of distraction. It didn't take a bit of persuasion to get her approval, so he picked a tome of choice from a shelf and took stance directly opposite the room from her. While only moments ago she had been closed off, now she stood before him in a battle ready stance. The transformation was stunning, and Laurent had to stop himself from gawking. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

He made the first move suddenly, stepping forward as the spell flew from his fingertips. Lightning blasted through the air, but Morgan dodged it on quicker feet. She dashed forward, raising Amatsu above her head as a means to strike. Laurent had to keep his distance if he was to do well in this fight, so he took the earliest chance he had and weaved behind her, shooting out another bolt in her direction. A direct hit, but Morgan recoiled in a way Laurent could have never seen coming. She swapped her two handed grip on Amatsu for a single grip, above her shoulder, and she launched it through the air.

The sword struck him in the arm before he had any chance to react. He let out a hiss of pain, which seemed enough to catch Morgan off guard. She hadn't meant to hit him straight on, but he'd never thought she'd throw a sword at him either. Regardless, the fight was still on, and he cast as spell moments after the sword clattered to the ground. She in the ground in a roll in her attempts to dodge. It worked wonderfully, but returning to her feet was a different story. She tumbled and tripped over the soles of her boots. Laurent took the chance and kicked the sword farther away from her, and by the time she popped back up, he had cast another spell.

"Whoa!" she cried, just barely making it to the side of the flash. It was enough to get her where she needed to be, close enough to her sword to grab it. She ducked down just low enough to scoop up the weapon and took off in a dead run again. She turned at the corner of the room, heading back in Laurent's general direction. He was still blasting her with bolts. A couple hit her on the way, but it never slowed her step; not until she came to a slow in order to move into her attack. One step, another step, and she jumped into the air. She spun, bringing Amatsu down from the right. In that instance it was as if the world had stopped moving just long enough for Laurent to cast one more spell.

The blade met the lightning in a head on collision, one that exploded and sent them both flying backwards. They could hear each other before they could see each other—smoke filled the room, but the idea of what had happened started Morgan into a fit of laughter. While Laurent wouldn't be caught dead acting like such a maniac, he did let out a small bit of chuckling in turn with the girl.

"You're a challenge!" Morgan laughed out. She pulled herself from the ground and stumbled over to where Laurent was dusting himself off.

He let out an amused scoff, "Indeed. I haven't had quite a fight that interesting in a while now. Perhaps it would be beneficial to meet in here more often."

Morgan nodded, "I believe we already agreed to that, but I'd definitely like it. It helps get my mind off things, you know?" she grasped the sword closer to her.

Laurent nodded, "I… I do understand that, quite well, in fact," he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, allowing his hand to linger in front of his face. He meant to hide a momentary loss of composure: a story he had not shared. Whatever it was, he had sufficiently repressed it away from his features so that Morgan would not question. She did not seem to notice, idly looking at her sword as she was. Her knuckles had turned white with the pure force at which she grasped the hilt with.

He found himself smiling at her far longer than he intended. She caught his light smile, and returned it with a sheepish one. It was unlike her, he thought, especially when it vanished in an instant. She began to move away, walking slowly towards where she had laid her coat down before Laurent had arrived.

"Perhaps we could meet this evening then?" he blurted out. It shocked even him, the sudden question, but it was enough to stop Morgan. She turned, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

"Sure… Any particular occasion?" she wondered.

"I believe it would be a good time for studying, as there is still work to be done today. Little time to continue our normal routine."

Morgan nodded, "Then I'll meet you in the library this evening. Thank you," she gave a lingering wave as she left the training room.

Laurent frowned. Something was wrong, and he could sense it quite clearly. Perhaps it was simply grief, he knew the feeling all too well. It changed and warped people, and so he thought to brush off her sudden lack of sunshine. She would return to normal in time. Even quicker so if she knew she was not alone. Studying had been an excuse from the beginning, he supposed.

It was not until evening that they met up again, and even then it was uncharacteristic. Laurent had found a comfortable seat in the library promptly when they had agreed to meet. He had even gathered books they had yet to look over in preparation for their studies. Minutes past, reaching nearly fifteen before Morgan entered the room. She looked particularly tired and had lost all bounce in her stride. Regardless, she joined Laurent at the table and seated herself with a smile.

"You're late," Laurent observed.

"Sorry. I ate a little slower than I intended," came a quick planned excuse.

Laurent accepted it at face value and nodded. He straightened in his chair and laid the book on the table, open to the first page. Morgan looked at the book, and then to him. His gaze was eager, intent to continue as they had been. If only for a sense of familiarity amidst Morgan's strange attitude. He was not disappointed when she smiled and scooted closer.

This proved to be one of the most interesting books they had read together, one that prompted many in depth conversations. Either they agreed, disagreed, or argued where the author of the tactical book had gone wrong. Time flew by as they flipped through page after page, going back and jumping forward chapters. Soon the candle was their only light, and it had since halved in size.

Morgan laughed quietly, "That was a thrilling read. After a while, all these books start to say the same thing, but this one was way out there."

"Indeed it was. I found it more amusing than helpful, but I enjoyed reading it with you," he replied in kind. He couldn't help but smile as well, seeing Morgan back to a semblance of herself. It was reassuring.

"With me, hm?" she leaned against the table, her arms crossed and cradling her head. In the light of the candle, Laurent could barely make out her feature. But her sparkling eyes were clear, a gentle smile on her lips, and black hair cascading over her face.

Laurent nodded, "It comes to my attention that I am not forthcoming in that I do enjoy your company. My days have certainly become louder since you arrived."

"I don't think that's a compliment," she giggled.

"Say…" he began. He reached up and removed his hat, setting it gently on the table. Maybe it was the late hour, it had to have been the next day already, but Laurent seemed more relaxed. Relaxed enough that he even leaned against the table, the candle illuminating the tired look in his eye.

"Hm?" she hummed quietly.

"Have I ever told you about my parents?" The silence he received was answer enough, and so he continued, "Both of my parents worked for Chrom, Lucina's father. They had been Shepherds, or at least they told me. It's where they met and all."

"Who were they? Maybe Mother told me about them," Morgan's smile was one of empathy; the sweetest smile Laurent had ever seen.

"My mother's name was Miriel, she was a mage," his fingers grasped into the brim of the hat. "And my father's name was Vaike. They were like oil and water, but…" he let out a sigh and straightened up.

"Mother mentioned them to me," her voice was quiet, slow as though she was too tired to even speak. "She said that my father had a close friend by the name of Vaike."

"Strange," Laurent commented, "Father never spoke of a man named Kilian. Though, I often recall his pained look upon the ending of stories. He rarely finished stories, which always struck me as strange. My father was a proud man, one who boasted of himself often… Perhaps he meant to speak of your father…"

"But why would he not? Mother said they were inseparable."

Laurent shrugged, "Regardless. It was he who told me the majority of the stories I know. Mother stuck to teaching me. We read books together and she taught me to cast spells. There was a time I knew how to wield an axe as well—Father fought with one and thus trained me with it as well."

"Why do you use a sword then?"

"Because Father died. Axes seemed heavier after that, I chose a lighter weapon in hopes of dispelling any burden. It hasn't worked thus far, but I am attempting regardless."

"How…did your parents die?" Morgan wondered.

There was silence after that. Laurent did not wish to remember, did not want to speak the memories. It was still just as painful as the ever-present day etched into the back of his eyelids. His fingers clutched onto the hat like a life line. But his face stayed calm, as though nothing could phase him. Not even the death of the only family he'd ever known.

"Father died…protecting us," he finally began. "The battle had been too dire to begin with, and it was brought right to our doorstep. I was younger, and thus they judged the fight no place for me to be. Mother pleaded that Father escape with us, but he insisted that, should he not stay behind and fend them off, we would all die.

"I remember him saying he wouldn't allow that to happen. Something about me having to carrying on 'Teach's legacy' I believe. I digress. He told me to be good for Mother and to keep up my training without him, and with that Mother took me by the arm and began to run. I looked back at the wrong time, of course."

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked. She could see the pain welling up in Laurent's eyes as he told the story.

"Father had never meant to survive the battle, only to buy us time. I watched him die…" he trailed off, shoulders stiffening. "Mother was with me for a few years after, but one day she did not return home. To this day I have not found her body. All I was able to find was her hat, here," he pointed to the very same he had been wearing before they began their talk. "I also located the ring which Father gave her, but that was it."

"That…" Morgan sat up straight, suddenly very awake, "I'm so sorry," she finished.

Laurent glanced up at her, "There is nothing to apologize for. I'm able to fight properly again. Having you at my side has prompted me to work harder so that I may join you."

"Y-You too, though!" she quickly responded, "I've never enjoyed training and studying so much—I—well…" she stopped, unsure of how to continue. She drew in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest.

"It's late," she finally said.

Again, silence fell. Laurent shifted uncomfortable, moving until he could reach into his pocket. In the dim light, a small ring glistened. It looked cheaply made at best, yet had a sort of homey feel to it. The way Laurent spun it in his fingers with care showed just how deeply he treasured the small object. His eyes filled with emotion, and they looked directly at Morgan.

"Would you… like to hold onto this?" he asked. It was not near as tactful as he had hoped, but he offered the ring anyway.

Morgan stared at it. Her gaze darted between the ring and Laurent, "Wh-what? What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat, "As a promise, I mean. Maybe I'm being far too quick, but these times require we live in the moment and not in the future. This moment, I have decided that I would like nothing better than for you to stand at my side forever."

"L-like… Marriage?" she questioned.

Laurent gave a feeble nod. He might have been embarrassed, but the darkness made it hard to tell. Morgan smiled regardless and held out her hand.

"I'd…love to."

She could see Laurent smile as he slid the ring on her finger, "And I guess it should be said then, obvious or not, that I love you, Morgan."

A red color spread across her face as she nodded, "And me too! But… One question," she paused a moment to admire the ring.

"Yes?"

"How would we… even plan to get married? And also this ring is quite beautiful up close," she giggled.

"There are priests close by, we could have a small ceremony just: you and I. And thank you, it was the best Father could afford, he told me."

"I'm honored… We should go to sleep though."

Laurent agreed and stood up then, leaning over to blow out the candle. He took Morgan by the hand after replacing his hat to his head, leading her out of the library. They parted ways there, a silent promise to meet again as soon as possible in order to speak their vows. After all, there was no guarantee they'd live through another battle.


	9. Chapter 9

Bit of a shorter chapter here, but the good news is we're about half way through! go me! Tomorrow's my birthday so I won't get much of a chance to continue working, and with my job in general posting new chapters may slip my mind, but I'll do my best.

* * *

Late nights made for late mornings. It was a loud knocking on the door that finally roused Morgan from her sleep. She jerked awake, her darkened eyes splitting open as she nearly flung herself from the bed. She was hard pressed to even recall what had taken place prior to finding herself in bed, but the ring on her finger made it quite evident. Not about to be found out by whoever it was abusing her door, she tore the metal band off and left it on her night stand before dashing to the door.

"H-hello?!" Morgan squeaked out, pulling open the door. Lucina's hand hung in the air, mid knock when Morgan appeared. She was a mess: hair mused and sticking up in different directions, bare feet, and a night gown wrinkled and scrunched with sleep.

"You've only just awoken, I gather," Lucina couldn't help but be amused.

Morgan panted from her morning panic, but brushed it off in a light laugh, "Seems like it. I was up late studying—lost track of time."

Lucina nodded absently, "Anyway—have you seen Laurent? I've asked all the others and no one has seen him this morning. Apparently he skipped his morning routine, which is entirely unlike him. It's not a big deal or anything, we've taken care of what he normally does… But not being able to find him is concerning."

"Oh?" Morgan feigned interest in the issue. Her own brain was wracking for ideas of where he might have gone.

"I've received more reports about risen showing up in high numbers and was hoping that, after the claims are verified, we could look for a solution. But he's nowhere to be found? I'm quite worried, if I was to be honest."

"Let me get dressed, I can help you search?" Morgan attempted, giving a sheepish smile. If anything it was to hide her anxiousness, her annoyance. She was still tired, and worrying about Laurent was the last thing she wanted to do.

Lucina nodded, "We've searched the castle—it's midday as it is. If he's elsewhere, we haven't heard word yet. But the help is appreciated."

Morgan nodded and closed the door with her final goodbye. She shivered as she walked back through the room. Jitters ran through her, and whether it was anxiousness or chilly weather, she wasn't entirely sure. Whatever it was, a feeling of dread waved over her. It was quickly brushed off, as the only solution she could think of was that she was worried for Laurent. With it cast aside, she dressed quickly and pulled on her father's old coat. The ring was replaced to her finger before she dashed out.

The cold feeling went away the moment she left her room, but she couldn't be bothered with the logic behind it. She hurried down the hallway, pace picking up quickly into a run. Her destination was clear: the stables. In hindsight, it would've been easier to ask Lucina where they had already looked, but she was more concerned about other things. About Laurent, she assumed. But something from the previous night hadn't set right with her.

Nightmares, perhaps, or the chill in her room. Morgan hadn't been feeling well as of late, regardless. Talking with Laurent had been all she looked forward to, and even then meeting him was difficult to force herself to do. But now, her eagerness had been renewed at the thought that he was nowhere to be found.

She rushed through the hallways until she came to the simple wooden door. It only deterred her for a moment as she wrenched it open and moved outside. The stable was just across the small path, all she had to do was cross it. Her legs carried her swiftly, but she came to a screeching halt at the loud cry of a horse. Morgan let out a shriek as she stumbled backwards and tripped, falling down on her rear.

"Whoa!" Laurent called, reaching forward to calm his horse as she reared up on her hind legs.

Morgan let out a long sigh of relief, smiling sheepishly as Laurent dismounted. He straightened his hat, his clothes, and finally his glasses before stepping over. He held out his gloved hand and grabbed onto Morgan's as she reciprocated the action. Once she was standing, she too brushed off and straightened her clothes.

"Where have you been?!" she demanded next, looking up to him. He was shocked at the sudden outburst and blinked.

"I went to the nearby town. I thought I would be back sooner than this, but I ran into an issue with some risen on my return—"

"Are you alright!?" her voice heightened in pitch.

Laurent cleared his throat, "I'm fine," he iterated. Once she was sated, he took his horse by the reigns. With a motion of his head, calling Morgan to follow him, he led Miriel into the stables. Morgan trailed along behind, her face flush red at her prior display.

"Why did you go into town?" she asked suddenly. They were comfortably within the walls of the stable, door closed, and near the stall where Laurent kept his horse. It was in the far corner and the cleanest of them all.

"Oh, for a very particular reason. I hope you'll excuse my haste, but we live in trying times as it were," he shuffled until his weight was shifted onto one leg, then he moved ahead and slid off his left glove. Upon holding up his hand, Morgan spied a very simple band wrapped around his ring finger.

"Oh…" she gave a weak smile, out of place with her worn out eyes, "You got a ring."

"I wanted to make it official."

She nodded. The sentiment was appreciated, if not admired. His diligence was something she'd come to _love_ , if it was appropriate to use that word now. It made her giggle.

"Furthermore," Laurent continued, replacing the glove on his hand, "I arranged a brief meeting with a Priest for tonight, out behind the palace. He agreed to see us in order that we might exchange vows. I realize it's not a proper ceremony, nor will any of our friends be there—"

"Oh, Laurent!" Morgan threw her arms around him. She had to stand high on her tip toes to reach, but she held tight. He flinched, shocked at the sudden development, but eventually relaxed against her and wrapped her in his arms.

"It's the best I could do on such short notice," he finished.

"I love you," she whispered against his chest. She wasn't sure if he heard it, only that his arms tightened around her. This soft side of Laurent, she liked it very much. A moment of silence.

"Come, we have things to accomplish today," he spoke up eventually, ruining the precious moment between them. It had lasted a few good minutes, enough to restore a gentle smile to Morgan's face.

"The others had to do your work this morning. They had no idea where you'd gone," she let out a small laugh as Laurent's face scrunched up in embarrassment.

"Then perhaps we haven't as much to do as I had originally intended. However, it would be ideal to at least announce that I have returned, assuming they worried for me."

"Oh, they worried… I worried," she added on, rubbing her cheek. The very idea made Laurent smile, a small smile, but the joy was evident on his face.

"You worried for me? How…happy that makes me," he let out a chuckle. The very idea turned Morgan's face red, and she brushed it off with a wave of her hand.

"Fie! It'll be the last time if you keep that up! Let's go now, inside! To waste the day away until—" she cut off there. Perhaps it was because she was suddenly cold again, or perhaps as she recalled just what Laurent had proposed. Proposed, indeed.

"Is something the matter?" he questioned.

Morgan brushed off his concern with a shake of her head, "No, nothing. Let's go," she replied gently. She folded her arms across her chest, shoulders hunching. It felt like she was being watched; Laurent was watching her, but his gaze was not cold—not to her at least. It seemed warm, if anything, but she could not find solace in it today. Desperate, she turned quickly on her heel and nearly dashed from the stables.

Laurent followed quickly, but even then he did not catch her. She was gone before he entered the castle once more, run off from something he couldn't see. But even he was starting to feel a strange chill down his spine. Shadows in the castle that weren't there before, like someone who didn't belong. It had to be pre-ceremony jitters making him see things, making Morgan so skittish. As the only logical explanation he could come up with on short notice, he accepted it and looked no further.

Strange as it were, Laurent did not see or hear from Morgan the rest of the day. None had seen her. Her door was shut tight and locked when Laurent went to check her room. After a few knocks, when she didn't answer, Laurent had to assume she was resting. It wouldn't make sense otherwise if she was not inside her room, since the door handle jiggled but would not go all the way. Locked. It was disheartening, to say the least, but Laurent swallowed his sigh and left Morgan to herself.

They did not meet again until that night, as promised. Morgan had pulled on her coat and fled her room quickly. She stole through the quiet dark halls, her boots loud against the stillness of the air. She prayed it would wake no one as she pounded through the sleeping quarters. From there, she reached the main hall and went on, to the same door she had entered earlier that day to escape. Once outside, the stables directly in front of her, she took a hard left and dashed towards the back of the castle. There was a large tree out back, one of the largest she had ever seen, and the scene beneath it couldn't have made her happier.

Laurent stood there, uncharacteristically hatless, beside an older man clad in the clothes of a priest. This was really happening. Suddenly, Morgan felt the warmth explode from her core and fill her to the very tips of her fingers as she reached the cover of the tree. The light of the moon and stars seemed to vanish beneath its leaves, but just enough remained trickling through the spaces that she could clearly see into his reddish eyes.

"It's good to see you again," Laurent teased, reaching out for her. She clasped her hands in his, squeezing tightly.

"I'm sorry about earlier—" she started, but his gentle smile hushed her fairly easily.

"It's no trouble. This is far more important, so please," he gestured towards the priest. The man nodded, though he seemed to shiver at the idea of being out so late. Risen were on the prowl it seemed, but that was hardly their first concern. He said his part, but Morgan wasn't listening. She couldn't keep herself still, herself focused, watching as Laurent's face twitched in the same anticipation to get to what they really came for.

"You may now exchange your vows," the priest finally said, closing his small book. He continued on to mumble something about never presiding over a wedding in such harsh times under such strange conditions, but neither of the children cared.

"Morgan," Laurent started. He hesitated, searching for something meaningful to say, then sighed, "I'm not good at this. But—if we are spelling out our feelings… I am quite fond of you, and I have been for some time. Spending evenings with you in the library were some of the happiest and most productive times I've spent whilst here at the castle. You are truly extraordinary with a wondrous devotion to your friends and training—to me, and well," he let out another sigh.

"In regular words?" Morgan urged, a large smile plastered on her face.

Laurent couldn't help but smile back, "I am quite smitten with you—I love you," he corrected.

Morgan giggled, "I love you too, and I'm going to stick by you through this war and after. Because I know we're going to survive: with your smarts and my muscle we are bound to make it though. I've never had any friends before you guys, and well—you've been the best friend I've had. We might be rushing into something but fie! I couldn't care less. I'm just happy to share this with you," she nearly bounced into his arms, standing up on her tippy toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife—please kiss her so I can get out of here," the priest was desperate now.

"With pleasure," Morgan nearly purred out, yanking Laurent down to meet her in an awkward kiss. Their teeth knocked at first, but after a few seconds they got the hang of whatever it was they were doing—kissing maybe—and parted ways.

By the time they parted, the priest had run off in his fit of dark time-phobia and left them alone. Between them was left nothing but a feeling of joy, a feeling of accomplishment, togetherness. Wonderful as it was, it was all too short. Morgan watched as Laurent took his gloves from his belt and slid them back over his hands, newly placed ring and all. Then she, glancing at her own ring, understood what this would mean.

"We can't tell anyone," he told her, hands coming to cup her face. "Not until this is over."

Morgan nodded, "Don't…die, until then," she whispered. Silence fell again; all Laurent could do was dejectedly nod his head. It was the only logical course of action, and one he would have to pay special attention to in order to follow it out.

"Let us return to our rooms," a solemn suggestion. Married couples slept in the same room normally, after all. But war took away luxuries, and the life of a married woman was a luxury. Morgan sighed, but plastered a smile on her face for the time being.

"And tomorrow?" she wondered. Her hand slipped comfortably back into Laurent's as they turned back towards the palace. Somehow this is not what she imagined upon getting married, but it would have to do.

"We go on as normal, just as always. It's all that we can do, after all. With the way the Risen have been growing in number as of late, I suspect Lucina has something in mind. I could be wrong, but we'll have to see."

Morgan nodded. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was the last thing on her mind when they parted ways for their separate bedrooms. Something was so incredibly off; the word "Risen" made her stomach twist and curl and it made her want to wretch. As of late, all she could remember about them was the horrific whispers what filled the air while they fought.

Get the girl.

Get the girl.

Get the girl.

 _Get Morgan._ She wondered if anyone else had picked up on it, but things were falling into place and she could see it ever so clearly. If what Lucina had told her was true, these Risen only started growing in number at her arrival. And with the large hoard which attacked her back at home, it all made sense. Sickening sense. If exhaustion wasn't beginning to take a toll on Morgan's heavy eyelids, the very idea that she was the cause of this loss might have caused her to wretch where she lay. But sleep was the more powerful entity, so she closed her eyes and hid beneath her blankets.


	10. Chapter 10

Woo, sorry it took so long to get this one up! I've been busy with college, and for the past 3 days have been at my orientation (which was dreadful lol). But, this chapter is a bit longer to make up for the wait, and hopefully cliff-hangery enough to light some excitement until I can get the next chapter up. Thanks for those who stuck around to read!

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Morning seemed normal enough, and Morgan was glad for it. Her newfound ring began the excuse for keeping herself warm; this ever present chill around her was starting to infect her very mind it seemed. Like she was being watched. But upon leaving her room, Laurent standing across the hall in wait for her appearance, it was gone in an instant. She clung around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

"Well, good morning," he commented dryly, shifting his arm to make room for her tiny body up close.

"Mornin," she muttered.

"If someone sees, this might raise suspicions," he reminded, yet did not move to pry her arms off of him. Instead, he began a difficult trek down the hallway. She trudged along with him, not making the trip easy.

"Fie, you worry too much. I'm cold, and I don't care," she decided. She did care, really. The consequences for their secrecy were unknown, and therefore could range from nonexistent to horrifyingly harsh. Morgan didn't want to find out, but she also wanted to remain warm. As long as she could just pretend there was some semblance of a relationship between them, her mind was distracted.

"Then here," Laurent finally decided to unwind her arms, but only to step away for a brief moment. He undid the strap about his shoulders which held his cape on, only to redo it again having draped the material around Morgan's shoulders instead. She blinked, shocked at the kind gesture. But nonetheless, she thanked him.

For the rest of the normal, dull day, Morgan did not remove the cape. Laurent did not ask for it back, and no one else questioned it. She received glances from aside, gentle murmurs from the eating hall, but no questions directly. And she was glad for it; it meant she could wear it longer. It was rather comfortable, even if she wore it over her coat as well as her clothes. Aside from the glances, the day was as she expected. And even on the side of the Risen problem, there was no news. Nothing new, no urgent attacks, no rushing to the battle field. And she was glad for it. By the end of the day, she was still just as tired as any other day, and her bed seemed all the more comfortable when she laid down. And she was glad for it.

But such complacency had no business in a world on the brink if ending. Even now, where Morgan lay still wrapped tightly in Laurent's cape, did she feel unknown glares digging into her back. Something felt off, and though the idea of sleep seemed pleasant, even preferred, she could not bring herself to close her eyes. Before long, the pressure was all too much. She threw back the covers, crawled out of bed, and turned headway around the bed and towards the door. But a figure stopped her in her tracks. A man, she figured, tall, and covered by a hood, a coat that looked painfully similar to the one she had discarded onto a hook for the night.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Morgan," the man's dull voice rang out in the darkness. He removed his hood then, revealing someone who seemed more than familiar. His eyes were a darkened green, his hair a light auburn slicked back along his skull. Longer hairs fell down over his left shoulder, and stray shorter ones lifted away like pulled back antennae. Just as Say'ri had described.

"Do you not recognize me?" he seemed wounded at the implication. Even if he was, it didn't show on his face as he approached Morgan. He took her hands in his, allowing some semblance of warmth to flood through her yet again.

"I…" she started, but she couldn't form any words. She knew who he was, though there was the obvious disconnect. She had never actually _seen_ her father. As far as she had been told, he had died before she was old enough to remember. Died.

"My name is Kilian, but you may know me better as Father," he raised up her chin to look him in the eye. On his face was a gentle smile. "How you've grown, Morgan."

"How are you…? What are you doing here?" she finally bit out. Without thinking, she reached up to take his hand within her own. She hadn't been expecting him to be so warm, like this was all some dream.

"I've always been here," Kilian assured, "watching over you, looking for you. I made a mistake when I left your mother's side all those years ago, but I want to fix what I did. I want you to come back with me."

"Back…with you?" she blinked, her eyes glancing down to her hand.

"You don't belong here with these people. You belong with me, your father. Please, Morgan," something in his voice changed to desperation, though his facial expression didn't read it. Morgan didn't notice, she was still in shock.

"But," she looked up at him now, "but Laurent."

Kilian's lips twitched into an understanding smile, "For now, at least. Haven't you heard how the Risen are looking for you? Do you think the others won't find out soon enough? When they find out that _you're_ the cause of this…"

Morgan's breath hitched. She couldn't deny that. If she was the reason the Risen were attacking so prevalently now, would they really still want her amongst their ranks? She wouldn't want herself there, not if she was putting them in danger. With the thoughts whirling around in her head, she was starting to feel dizzy from it all. One last look into Kilian's eyes, and she couldn't quite resist it. This was her father, one she thought she lost, and everything he said made so much sense.

"Father…" her small hands trembled as she took them back to herself, keeping a strained eye contact with Kilian. If she had been in her right mind, she might have noticed the strange glint in his eyes, something just as cold as the chill following her shoulders all this time. But she looked right past that to the warmth of a father who _cared_. She was helpless to the idea of a family.

Laurent considered himself patient, but having stood outside Morgan's door for ten minutes with absolutely no indication that she would be joining him, anxiousness arose in his chest. Eleven minutes, then thirteen, fifteen; Laurent drew the line then and stepped across the hallway to her door. He knocked, but the sound died away as the door creaked open on its hinges. It was like a desolate wasteland inside, bear of any sign of life. As he stepped across into the room, it became clear something was off. Even the bright golden sword what had rested against the wall not three steps from the end of her bed was gone. The lights were blown out, no trace left of the books which had been stacked along the wall, the patched up coat she wore was all but gone, along with whatever had remained of her mother.

In a moment he dashed from the room, taking the sharp turn down the hallway. He kept a light jog, his eyes searching, as he moved quickly through the path the walked every morning. He checked the rooms on the way, even taking a step outside to check the stables. Cynthia was there, and though she didn't catch on to Laurent's worry, she confirmed that she hadn't seen Morgan either that morning. And she wasn't the only one who attested to Morgan's disappearance. No one had seen her. When his latch ditch effort came at lunch time, to hunt her down in the meal hall, where he was sure he would find her chowing down and talking incessantly just like he always had: he was more sorely disappointed than he'd been for the entire morning.

"Lucina," Laurent's sudden call jerked the girl from her book, seated comfortably at a desk.

"Oh—yes?" she immediately smiled, but Laurent was beyond reciprocating the gesture.

"Where's Morgan?" She was the only one he hadn't asked yet, and the only one who caught on immediately.

"I haven't seen her, why do you ask?"

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I believe she's gone. When I went to retrieve her for our morning rounds, she didn't appear. When I went to knock, the door was already open. Inside—everything was gone, right down to what she had taken of her mother's," Laurent informed.

"You think she...left?" Lucina immediately pushed away from the table, standing up. "Why would she just leave? She's been such an asset, and I thought we had treated her hospitably—"

Laurent shook his head, "I don't know. She never showed any sign of displeasure being here—there has to be a reason, I'm sure of it. But I just don't know what it is or where I could find it…"

Lucina's brow scrunched, "We need to revisit your earlier idea then, about a missing link?"

"We searched the entire palace and there was nothing," Laurent rebutted. And he'd thought the plan had been ingenious at the time.

"Maybe we missed something? You said that this Kilian worked alongside my father, so isn't it strange that there's no record of him?"

Questions they'd asked before, both had no answer. It was useless to revisit them, so Laurent got to thinking. The ring on his finger felt like it was burning beneath his gloves, but he tried to ignore it as his eyes glanced about the shelves of books.

"All we've been able to find so far are tactical books…" he observed, "some of which didn't even include his name. They were all fairly warn down and out of the way as well…"

"What are you thinking?" Lucina wondered.

"It seems deliberate: think about it," he looked directly at her now. "Morgan was adamant that Kilian and Say'ri had fought alongside our parents, but none of us remember hearing about them. And yet, every story we were told has obvious gaps in it, ones which Morgan attempted to fill with what she had heard as a child. Even his tactical books mirror some of the battles we were told of perfectly—like he had been the one to write them. And yet none of us have ever heard of them?"

Lucina nodded in agreement.

"I don't think records of him would be in such an obvious place as the library, but where else to check?" Laurent let out a heavy sigh, removing his glasses to scrub them between his thumb and forefinger.

Lucina's shoulders heaved for a moment as she looked about the room, deep thought etched into her brow. Yet another question they had no answer to.

"Let's try to take it easy for now, maybe let the others know?" Lucina tried, an uneasy smile on her lips.

Laurent only let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples now before replacing his glasses.

"I'll think of somewhere we haven't looked," Lucina assured, "find something to take your mind off this for now, Princess's orders," she beamed. She pushed him from the library then and closed the door behind him, moving back to the table to continue her own work.

Whatever it was she was working on, Laurent didn't know, and that's what he chose to forget about as he fled from the door. He would not forget about Morgan's disappearance: she was more than just a missing friend. Maybe now it was his own happiness that depended on finding her, or his own sanity. Whichever it was, he wasn't sure, nor did he care to find out. His actions, his thoughts, were all out of place, but he was glad there was no one around to see the way he acted. He figured it must've been akin to whatever had ensnared his own mother to a man so unlike her. A silly four letter word he really wished to forget, it had caused this stress on him.

He tried to set it aside, stopping at the corner of a wall to brace himself and just _breathe_. Each emotion coursing through him, he pushed it aside and tried to drop it, replace it all with logic and reason. He had to think this through or he would never find the answers. This whole thing, secrets and gaps in the truth, it was deliberate. Something had happened back before any of this had begun, before any of them were even born—something had to have happened. Laurent was sure of that much, but what would possibly lead him to the truth.

Questions began to flood his mind as he thought things through. They had all been together since the beginning, he and Lucina and the others, just as their parents had been. Morgan was assured that her parents had been in the same, so why hadn't she been there too? Why hadn't any of them been there? Deliberate, deliberate, deliberate. Someone had made it this way, someone had purposefully done this; Laurent had an inkling that it was Kilian himself who did it, whoever the man may have been.

Kilian had left things behind, though. Was that a mistake? Or a subtle attempt to reach whoever may stumble across it? Laurent pushed away from the wall then as it dawned on him: there was one place they hadn't checked. A place they hadn't thought to check, as it seemed too farfetched an idea to even bother. The castle had a basement, small as it was and full of stored boxes, but there was a chance. If Kilian wanted to stay hidden, he wouldn't have left everything behind. But none of it had been easy to find.

 _Might as well see for myself, then,_ Laurent let out a heavy sigh and continued down the corridor. The door at the end would lead him to where he needed to go, the dark under the castle. There was an oil lamp sitting beside the door for any who might wish to venture down, a convenient addition to Laurent's expedition. He leaned down to lift it up, lighting it quickly. He moved to open the door, and as he turned the handle a sound caught his attention for a brief moment. Whirling around to investigate proved useless: nothing was there. Sure as he was that he'd heard footsteps, there was nothing there. With a gentle shrug of his shoulders, he pressed forward through the door and down the steps.

Cynthia, who had not been ten strides behind him, was breathing heavily now as she grasped at the wall behind her. She had only wanted to see what he was doing, and wasn't sure why she had felt it so necessary to hide. But the way Laurent looked worried her, the way she saw him leaning against this very wall. He looked pained, and she was only concerned. But now, she wasn't sure if going directly to him was the best answer. Instead, she ran off down the hallway to find the others.

The stairs were stone and quiet beneath Laurent's feet. His own haste caused his step to be light, leaving him with no solace in sounds to distract him from his thoughts. The darkness proved to cloud them some, narrowing everything to the only thought that he needed to find _something_. Some kind of clue, any kind of clue, scattered around these boxes and musty smell. There were old bookshelves stacked to the brim, old broken weapons, and so many nooks and crannies that Laurent wasn't sure where to begin. So he began right where he was, at the first crate he came to.

From there, it was a matter of diligence and perseverance. He went through every crate, every empty room, every bottle, nook, and shelf, before something finally caught his eye. At the end of the long room, just past an open door, there was a table bare of all things. Save one. Laurent pushed aside what stood in his way and moved to the back room, pushing the door open the rest of the way. He set the lamp down on the table and picked up the only other thing before him. From the looks of it, it was a ratty old journal, bound and leather and tied shut. It was worn with age, positively old enough to belong to someone's parent. Someone Morgan's age.

Laurent shuffled around until he found an old chair to sit in, then pulled that up to the edge of the table and seated himself. He glanced over the journal, running his fingers over the engraved letters on the front. It read "K&S", which he assumed was for Kilian and Say'ri. He'd never seen a shared journal before, but shrugged the idea off as he untied the small knot. Once the lamp was close enough to make reading easy, Laurent straightened his glasses and opened the book.

The handwriting matched Kilian's from his tactical books; Laurent knew he was on the right track. He took a deep breath and began to read the first entry.

 _All my time in the army has certainly paid off. Today, the Exalt decided that she had a better idea for where I could be stationed, and that's when I met Prince Chrom. He's a little scatterbrained, and prefers I just call him Chrom, but dignified all the same. They were in need of a tactician, someone to plan for them, with the threat of Plegia rising. Apparently, I was just the break they needed. Not that I mind, training all the time was dull. I much prefer reading where it's quiet; though Vaike is a bit torn up about my leaving. Seems to be the only one though. Regardless, I hope Chrom and I can get along._

Laurent had to pause out of near shock. What Morgan had said was true: his father and Kilian knew each other. And even from such a short fragment, they appeared to be just as close as she described. Again, he had to question why he had never heard of Kilian before if he had been his father's closest friends. None of it was adding up, but this first entry was proof enough as it was. He turned the page and continued reading.

 _Mother isn't too excited about me moving permanently into the castle, but that's what seems to be needed. Plegia continues to raise threats against Ylisse, and as my home, I'm duty bound to protect it. Something seems off, like Mother is hiding something from me, but that's a question for another time. I leave for the castle tomorrow—all of my stuff is packed already. Chrom seems nice enough, so I'm sure my stay will be enjoyable._

Laurent shook his head, this was getting him nowhere. He shifted his hold on the book to thumb through a good deal of the entries, until something caught his eye. It was too late to stop immediately on it, so he diligently turned back a few pages. A brief skim told him it was just after the war with Plegia ended—King Gangrel dead, Kilian shared a short words on the matter.

 _Glad the war's over, nice that Chrom took the credit. I lead the assault, I landed the final blow. But that's fine, at least our countries can be at peace for now. I think I'll visit Mother for a time._

The next few entries were nothing special, just Kilian's time at home during the stretch of peace. Laurent hadn't heard many stories from there: the only detail he knew for sure is that was when he was born. It wasn't an exciting time, merely peaceful. Lucina was born as well, though they were a year at least apart in age. Laurent wasn't sure he could remember the exact number with the state he was in, but the idea of finding out again might distract him for a moment. Regardless, he took a deep sigh and flipped through a few more pages, a few more entries, until he saw the name.

Say'ri.

 _I met Say'ri today, and I think for a time things might be better. She'll be an asset, having lived in Valm, she'll know the layout of the land. I might seek her help while forming my strategies, she seems appreciative of my work and has already offered her help to me. I'm glad someone does. Stated earlier, even for my plan on the sea, Chrom was still given lead and credit for it all. I digress: I think I'll go speak to her now._

Laurent skimmed through the next few entries, each one about Say'ri. Kilian seemed enamored with her, and Laurent learned that she had been the princess of Valm, Yen'fay's little sister. Kilian described her in detail: brown eyes with just a hint of green, long black hair with a white band tied around her forehead, and purple clothes. She was a master with a sword, and carried two at all times on her hip for emergencies. Whenever he tried to describe her, the entries would cut off suddenly and move onto a new topic; the very idea of a love-struck tactician made Laurent crack a smile. Whoever Kilian was, he seemed quiet. Even his diary entries, where he had all the time in the world to voice his thoughts, were short and brief. A man of few words, but he always made his point.

The point seemed to be that he was in love with Say'ri. One particular entry talked in depth about a painting he had seen her creating, and how he had sat down with her to learn the art. She taught him, and within hours he was painting alongside her. They shared a kiss in that entry, Laurent figured it might've been the first kiss Kilian had ever hard, the way he gushed about it in short fragmented words.

This journal had turned out far happier than Laurent had originally expected. Each new entry after that detailed more about Say'ri than battles. Several were from the same day as well. It kept up the same theme until Laurent reached the entry detailing Kilian's wedding. He and Say'ri had wed quietly, on their own, and announced it later.

 _Vaike was ridiculously obnoxious about the ordeal: it was just a ring. Say'ri and I had been inseparable since our first chat—nothing seemed too different. But there's something important about a ceremony, I suppose. I'm glad she is my wife, at least. She takes notice of the hard work that I put in, and has even assisted me on some previous battle strategies. With her, I think I might be able to continue._

The entry cut off there, and it left Laurent perplexed. He wasn't sure what it was Kilian meant to continue, or how he thought he would be able to with Say'ri. But, Laurent continued. Not a few entries later was the shortest one he had read so far. It was a simple statement, one sentence, but one that made Laurent smile. Say'ri was pregnant. And that was the last happy entry Laurent read.

 _If one more person congratulates Chrom on a victory I might kill the man myself. He's fine, I have to remind myself that he's fine. A good man, a good soldier, but he's downright stupid. I'm the genius behind these battles, behind these victories. But as long as I sit behind this desk, working far past the middle of the night—candle light is the worst when even the moon has gone to sleep—then I suppose no one will particularly care. Not even when I lead the battles myself: lest Chrom get himself killed. Then, I suppose, all of Ylisse will die. It's not as though Lissa can take over—he probably thinks that at least. I digress._

But then something was different. The next entry was written by someone else, handwriting much smoother than Kilian's. It was obviously Say'ri's work, or the initials on the front wouldn't add up. Her entries followed for a few pages, each detailing her concern for Kilian's well-being. Laurent's breath hitched in his throat when she mentioned Grima.

 _Mother never told me I was from Plegia,_ It was back to Kilian almost immediately, _but I guess there's a lot I don't know. Validar, whoever he may be, claims to be my father. Claims I'm some amazing creation, that I have the capability to become a god. Grima, he said. Sounds romantic, but I have battles to plan. If I don't plan our strategies, who will? These idiots would die without my help. If I wasn't here, they'd have never made it past the first war with Plegia, Naga help them. Maybe being a god isn't the worst thing that could happen to me—but I can't think that way, not now. I worry Say'ri is over exerting herself, nearly 6 months pregnant and she continues to join me in battle. As long as she stays at my side, I can't worry too much._

Laurent knew for sure now. This was the missing link, Morgan had been right. His heart began to beat quickly, up in to his ears as he turned the page. Page after page, now, was bitterness and anger. Kilian began to damn his own shepherds to death, even Chrom. He was beyond furious, and reiterated constantly that Say'ri, and his new daughter Morgan, were all that kept him grounded and sane. The fall of Yen'fay came, and then Walhart, and Kilian only seemed to grow angrier as Chrom grew more renowned. Cursed to stand in the back row of whatever play he had found himself in, and it lit his very soul on fire at the thought. Standing in Chrom's shadow must've been cold when the man single handedly was congratulated again and again for victories won against Valm.

 _He hadn't even attended this battle, but he won't admit that. He takes the peoples' praise, and he eats it like it's the only sustenance left in this world. Not one single mention of me—and he claims I am his greatest friend. I've had more fun on kitchen duty—sword at your side and wind at your back. It's all fake. I can hear Validar in my head sometimes, and his offer is starting to sound wonderful._

The urge to rush this up to Lucina was growing, but Laurent swallowed it as a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. He had to finish, he had to know what happened before he could make any assumptions. But each entry lead him to believe that Kilian _was_ Grima, and such a fact would prove disastrous for them, even if it meant everything Morgan had said was correct. Kilian was the missing link, and now Morgan was just _missing_. One more time, he swallowed and continued to read, flipping through several entries made by Say'ri. He was nearing the end of the book, so unless the journal had never been finished, Laurent was nearing his answer.

 _Say'ri will take care of Morgan, I know she will. But she doesn't have to know what I will do. I've already apologized, I've already asked her for forgiveness. She says she forgives me, that she will support me as she always has, but I know that's a lie. She'll never forgive me for this, but I've made up my mind. I'm a shadow in this army, and maybe if I'm on the other side these imbeciles will know just what they're up against, just how powerful I am. Maybe a thank you or something along those lines, but it was silence or "is our next battle planned yet." Maybe it's all petty, but I can't handle it anymore—being worked like a horse for not even an extra bit of spending money for more tactical books. That's fine by me then._

 _I stay up the latest, no one will realize if I leave tonight. I know where Validar is. I'll leave the information and battle plan on my desk, just in case they want to stop me. Whatever happens, it's because I wanted it to. Another day like this and I might die myself. It's for the best._

 _If anyone ever reads this: Morgan, I love you. You and your mother were the only things in this world who looked at me, not at what I could do for you. I'm glad you look like Say'ri, I'm no man to take after._

The time skip between Kilian's final entry and the next entry, the last entry, was a month. Whatever happened in between, Laurent could only guess, but figured he didn't want to know. Instead, he pushed up his glasses and leaned closer to the dying light, glancing at the neatly scrawled letters once before taking them in and reading them.

 _I must go, and I am taking Morgan with me. Kilian—he's gone. He has lost all semblance of sanity, of humanity, of the man I loved. He is Grima now, Kilian is dead. This is the story I will tell Morgan as she grows. She will hear only the good tales of Kilian, how he was heroic and fought bravely in every battle, how he comforted me at the death of my brother, how he stood up for his brothers and sisters in arms, how he never left Chrom's side through all the heartache. She will hear of Kilian as a hero, as I chose to remember him. Fie, I dare not say he is a villain now, perhaps only a flawed man._

 _It is my final request that I am the only one to talk of Kilian, to my daughter. I want for none others to speak of him, nor of me. I am leaving, and I will not return unless situations become so dire that I must. No one must know the story. We are disappearing, the three of us. Grima is no man, and I shall be damned should I be the one to make it seem as such. And such as I know he was a man, my own husband, I cannot be one to strike him down eventually. I will leave that to the rest of the Shepherds, pray that Kilian's words were none but exaggerated. May they prevail, may they speak not of my husband or me. I will leave the journal behind, that someone may find and understand if such a time comes that Grima cannot be defeated. May someone free Kilian from his mistakes—he deserves better._

Laurent flipped the final page and his heart nearly stopped. On the back was taped a painting, signed _Libra_ at the bottom. It was perhaps the most meaningful piece of art he had ever seen, and the very likeness of Kilian and Say'ri. She was just as beautiful as he had described, and he handsome beside her. His hair was a light auburn, slicked back and longer over his left shoulder. His eyes were more green than brown, while Say'ri's were more brown than green. They looked happy, both smiling and leaning into the other. He wore the same coat what Morgan had dawned nearly every day. Perhaps more important, and more deadly than all the smiles the two could've made in any painting, was the message below.

 _Say'ri, you are the light of my life, and I love nothing more. –Kilian._

Laurent nearly knocked the lamp over in his haste to stand up. He stole from the room, taking a blind dash for the stairs. It was luck or Naga's grace that kept him from tripping as he took the stairs two, three at a time. He burst through the door and did not bother shutting it before he took off again, heading for the library. If Lucina was not there still, he would search the castle top to bottom for her. She had to know, even if it was the most damming piece of knowledge they'd ever acquired.

Grima was human.


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry about the long wait! Still settling into college and work is getting a little hectic, but hopefully I'll have the rest of this story up soon.

Thanks for sticking with me!

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"Lucina!" Laurent called out. Lucina jerked from her seat at the table, scrambling to close her book and cover papers she had been writing on. Cynthia was in the room as well, and others, but Laurent didn't look to see. He didn't care.

"Laurent—what are you doing?" Lucina nearly shrieked.

"I told you he's gone crazy!" Cynthia pressed, but Laurent waved her off before throwing the journal down on the table. If he had been in his right mind, he might have looked at the papers, the book, but the journal was more important.

Silence followed. Lucina peered at the book as it fell open on the table. It was no page in particular that she read, an idle trivial entry about a crazy stunt Kilian and Vaike had pulled together, but his name was signed at the end. Just like every entry, Kilian signed at the bottom of the page, no matter how long or short his passage was. His name was clear as day.

"You…" Lucina looked up at Laurent now, watching as he panted heavily from his dash. He wiped sweat from his forehead, removing his hat if only to fix his hair. He'd forced every sound in the room to go silent, all eyes on him.

He cleared his throat, "Morgan has gone missing, but while she was here she spoke adamantly about her parent's involvement in the wars we all heard stories about as children. She said that her father, Kilian, was Chrom's chief tactician, and that her mother, Say'ri, was the sister of Yen'fay and a valuable asset to the army. Yet none of us had ever heard of them, and why?"

He pointed to the journal, "I found why, I found their journal. All of the questions—I wish I hadn't answered them," he sighed then, finally having caught his breath, and collapsed into a chair to rub his temples. "In fact, this journal will make none of our endeavors easier. It's just…answered why we didn't know about Kilian. Everything Morgan said was true—she just didn't know the whole story."

"And what's the whole story…?" Lucina's voice trembled. She feared the answer, but the question had to be asked.

Laurent met her eyes for a brief moment, then took time to scan the room. It seemed everyone was there, like they had been waiting for him, and now they were all intently listening. His eyes cast downward along the papers Lucina had, clearly making out the names of the gemstones, which had once given the Fire Emblem enormous powers.

"Grima," Laurent began, looking back up again. This time, he addressed everyone, "You will have to read the journal for yourselves to learn everything, but the end is what's most important. Kilian…. Kilian is Grima," he finished.

Stunned silence filled the room again; everyone had been subjected to Morgan's rambling about her father, but no one had ever heard this part of the tale. Morgan didn't know it herself, and perhaps it was for the best. To know your own father was the orchestrator of such a horrible state was a fate worse than death.

"You think that this has something to do with Morgan's disappearance then?" Gerome seemed to be the only one willing to break the silence.

Laurent shook his head, "I can't be sure, there's no connection thus far. But, with her reappearance, the number of Risen has grown. And suddenly, she vanishes? Perhaps Grima means to make a move—he succeeded in killing our parents, but with us here there is still a threat. However small it remains. Taking Morgan…he may be trying to hinder us."

"This might be a good time for you to tell us your secrets, Lucina," Kjelle snapped out. The statement shocked Laurent just as much as the others in the room. Laurent hadn't been the only one hard at work it seemed; the flustered look on Lucina's face proved it.

"Grima…needs to be destroyed," she said, though this sudden knowledge seemed to shake her, "but my plan—it's a suicide mission."

Everyone stood, steadfast, in their places, feet firmly planted to the floor. There was no hesitation, only quick glances to each other before each took a seat at the table.

Morgan walked through unknown halls now, dark with a penetrating evil which she did not know. Her eyes didn't follow, her senses didn't pick up; she was entranced by the sway of her father's walk, the way his hair bounded with his determined steps. There was something unreal about it, feeling so attached to a man she'd never met—a man she had thought was dead. There was no way her mother would've hidden him from her, that wasn't like Say'ri, and Morgan had never stopped trusting the woman. But something still felt off, even as Morgan's care for the situation drained away and was replaced with nothing but undying love for the man in front of her, something was wrong.

Kilian turned to look at her, his eyes no longer the pleasant greenish brown, but a glowing red with a slit pupil. Morgan didn't notice, caught up in the moment of family that they still looked the same to her. Even as other eyes sprouted from his face, fangs grew, and his ears jutted out and sharpened to a point: she saw the same well kempt man who had met her in room.

"We have some…things to discuss," he said. His voice was dry, like it had always been, though Morgan couldn't hear the growl which rose up from his vocal cords. She didn't want to see the evil in his soul, that from the beginning there had not been Kilian. Kilian had never stood in room, and Say'ri had never lied about his death.

"What's that?" she wondered, an innocent smile graced along her lips.

"You'll see."

He led her down the halls, endlessly, until they reached a large door. It was larger than life, from the tiled floor to the ceiling so high Morgan could not even begin to fathom the distance between. It was as if these halls were made for something larger and more ferocious than any man. More evil, though walls enough could never contain what Morgan did not know. Kilian knew well enough and took to keeping his time outside, where the battle was.

When the doors open, Morgan stepped into the large barren room. It was something like a ball room, but was far less extravagantly decorated and bright. There had never been a dance held within these walls; all which lie beyond the door was a raised platform, one which seemed like it might be a comfortable place to nap for a beast. But Morgan knew of no beasts.

"Your friends," Kilian started, turning to face her once the doors had echoed shut behind them. She could see the red flicker in his eyes, the evil dying to escape the mortal body. Something in her didn't mind as he reached out to take her hand. She placed hers within, watching as his thumb stroked her skin ever so carefully, gently, as to not scrape it with his pointed nails.

"My friends? You mean Laurent and the others?" she prompted, though her eyes were locked in the circular movement his thumb made.

"Yes. Lucina, really… You see, she hasn't been truthful with you. And because of it, she's caused you—my dear, beautiful daughter—pain beyond imagination. They played you for a fool, thinking you might buy their ignorance. That they could not possibly know of my greatness? It was a preposterous lie, one concocted just to keep you away from me."

"Wait…what?" her eyes darted up now, met with the intense blood of Kilian's eyes. She watched as the other eyes, lining the very edge of his face, blinked and pulsated.

"Lucina has been trying to destroy this world—and the façade she created was incredibly elaborate. I might not have been able to see through it, so it is of no surprise you were so easily fooled. To keep you from me, to keep you from knowing the truth I hold, she lied to you. Reuniting you with me, your father, would prove disastrous for her plans."

"But why would she be planning that?" Morgan wasn't sure how to sort through the contradictory statements, but she listened intently. There was an innate trust she held for her father, the way he caressed her hand made her warm. She'd felt so cold for so long, she melted into the touch and wanted to believe anything he told her.

"Her father wanted to, it's what her father set out to do. Chrom—in his attempts to berate me and destroy me he—!" Kilian took a deep breathe. "But I digress. I need your help, Morgan. The Risen, loyal as they may be, need someone out there with them to lead them. They are mindless creatures, and I cannot grant them direction with more important matters pressing. Come," he held her hand and turned, leading her towards the platform.

A loud noise awoke in the hall, echoing around the walls and bouncing back and forth, the sound of a machine. Atop the platform, a single door opened to make way for a pedestal, one which supported a glass case. Through it, Morgan could easily see just what she believed Kilian was talking about. More important matters: the Fire Emblem. The two ascended a stair case, twenty steps up, and proceeded inward to the middle of the platform. Beside the shield shaped device was a small stone, glowing.

"She seeks to steal this from me in order for her plan to work. The Fire Emblem, I'm sure you know what it is."

Morgan nodded as she raised her hand, pressing her fingertips against the cold glass.

"I must protect it from her, to keep her from achieving her goals. Because of that, I cannot lead the Risen to stop her. I would ask you to do that, though I daresay you know what the cost will be," he looked at her, his brow scrunched in a frown. It was unbecoming, unlike Kilian, but there was no reason for Morgan to realize the truth.

"I…would have to fight my friends," Morgan gulped.

"They aren't your friends!" Kilian nearly bellowed. His tongue had split now, like a snake's. He was having trouble maintaining a mortal body. "They lied to you, used you, and tried to force you against your own father! How could you call them your friends after that?"

Morgan blinked, shocked at the outburst and how his hand tightened painfully around hers. But he was right, and she trusted him completely, "They can't be my friends…" she muttered, almost in agony. But there was a hint of hope, one which held tight to the idea that Kilian was right: that this side would be better for her.

"I can lead your army against them," she decided, determination set deep into her brow.

Kilian smiled a toothy grin, his teeth sharp now as he let go of her hand, "Morgan, become my faithful servant. My daughter."

She only nodded, back stepping as if she knew the man would need more space. She watched, unflinching, as the body fell apart and dissipated into nothing, leaving only the heavy growl of a dragon as it appeared mightily before her. In an instant, something changed.

"I will do whatever you wish of me, Master Grima," and she smiled. Grima reclined, his large tail coiling around the pedestal as he laid down on the platform. His head rested on his front feet, six eyes unblinking. For now, they would wait.

Morgan could hear his voice in her head, explaining his plan to her. That they would wait and see where Lucina would strike, how she would strike, and then they would plan accordingly. Lucina was after the Fire Emblem and the five gemstones what made it work. Grima had split the gemstones into groups, two, two, and one. One remained with him and the Emblem, protected by his massive fortress and body. The others were elsewhere in Plegia, seemingly unguarded but with forces at the ready to swarm and destroy any who might dare come too close. It was a trap, in true coward's fashion, but Grima wasn't one to play by the rules.

After all, now, they had time.

Morgan turned at her heel and left the room, something disconnecting in the back of her mind. She could no longer feel the heavy burn of a ring on her finger. Kilian, Grima, had stolen her for his own use, and in doing so took the one thing which might return her to proper self. The ring was gone, stowed away now with what Grima kept hidden in his chamber. He had created Morgan a new, simply by taking on the face of his own vessel for a day.

She took up Amatsu, now for a new purpose, and stood in the entrance hall before the door. There was nothing, so she moved into stance and fought the air, trained away the memories. Grima fed on them, whispering into her mind there that all she had felt were lies. He took the joyous memories and made them of betrayal, of lies, down to the very last happy thought. Laurent's kiss was nothing but poison on her lips now, a forgotten burn to slow her blade.

Silence hung in the Ylisstol castle. Plans had been made already, and now there was only time to spare as they prepared. Lucina had said it herself, it was a suicide mission, but one that had to be done. She'd spent weeks researching the old achieves, learning about Grima, and learning about the history she had never known. This was not the first time he had shown up, and it would not be the last. But the hope lie in the century long sleep he would be cast into should she prevail. But it would require things long gone, having been lost with the death of her parents: the original Shepherds. The Fire Emblem, the Gemstones, she would need them all if she were to perform the Awakening.

That had been her plan, once she discovered the truth, and that was to find the Gemstones and the Emblem. But then came the second piece of news, one which she delivered with a heavy heart and a lump in her throat. Only those of exalted blood could perform this ritual, and they would need to do it where Naga's power was strongest. Mount Prism. But Lucina could not go on the perilous journey to retrieve the Gemstones. If there was to be any chance of this working, she had to stay out of harm's way. If she was gone, surely Owain would be up to the task, but she didn't want to risk anyone's safety more than she had to. If she went along, the knowledge would only slow her comrades down. She wanted to help, more than anything, but Kjelle insisted that her staying out of the way would be the best help she could offer. She knew Lucina well, and should one of them fall for her sake, Lucina would have never recovered. It was the way she was, and none of them could dispute the accusation.

Lucina agreed with a heavy heart, then, that she would remain at the castle. From there, they planned to split off upon reaching Plegia. It was a dangerous place, the enemy's territory. While the Risen were bad enough elsewhere, within Plegia, they swarmed. It was their stomping ground, where they came from. And deep in the heart of Plegia's deserts was the castle which Grima had claimed for his own. It had been remade, built for his own use, and acted as his nesting grounds in moments where he was not terrorizing the world. But there was no choice. If they were to find what they needed and do it quickly, they would have to split into groups.

It wasn't hard. They followed what Morgan had taught them through her father's books: if you fought with those you had forged relationships with, you would be able to fight better. So they paired away like that, friends with friends. The first group would be Cynthia, Kjelle, Noire, and Nah. The second: Yarne, Owain, Inigo, and Brady. And the last would consist of those left: Gerome, Severa, and Laurent. Lucina, regretfully, had agreed to stay within the castle walls. She would be safe there: if not for long, it would be long enough.

Now, as the silence rested through the stone walls, Lucina sat in the library with Laurent beside her. There was a map of Plegia spread out on the table before them, and books upon books stacked up around. Tactical books, ones Laurent had memorized, and all written by the same man they knew they were going to be fighting. Surely, it was either foolish or genius to use a man's own tactics against him, but they had no other choice if they were to have any hope of winning.

"I don't think splitting off so early would be wise," Laurent attempted, pressing his finger along the map. He advanced from Lucina's position, closer to the heart of Plegia. "We know that something has to lie within the Castle, so splitting apart farther in would be wiser. As for what else remains hidden in that place, there's no way of knowing until we stumble across it."

Lucina nodded, "I wish it didn't have to be that way… Surely, there must be some way to know where the Gemstones might be."

Laurent shook his head, "None that I know of. Perhaps places suspiciously under guarded or over guarded. Grima will either want to draw the attention there or make these places seemingly unimportant. Those would be the places to check first, and if we are lucky, the Gemstones will be there. As for the Fire Emblem itself, that I would imagine is in the castle itself."

"That would make the most sense, but with Grima being there, it would be dangerous."

"Of course," Laurent retracted his hand. It was heavy, his left hand, and he rubbed into his knuckles once it was close to his body again. He could feel the ring beneath his glove, a simple reminder of what he had lost, but what he would not reveal. "I would suggest then that Gerome, Severa, and I are the ones to infiltrate the castle."

There was a chance he would find Morgan there, after all.

Lucina let out a strangle gasp, one of hesitation, "You…three would be most suitable," she agreed. Laurent could tell she was reluctant to abide by any of this, it was in her nature, but the state of the world was dire now. It was up to them to save it or die trying.

"We should prepare beforehand, the journey will not be easy or short," Laurent warned. Lucina nodded, almost pitifully, in response. In search for something to distract her from the imminent disaster, she looked to Laurent. In the low candle light, his hat long removed, he looked different.

"Are you alright?" she changed the subject, "Is there something wrong with your hand? Perhaps you've sprained it, why don't you get it checked out?"

He shook his head, "No, it's quite alright. It's just…nerves, I guess," it was a sorry excuse. But Lucina accepted it without question. They would head out within the week once supplies were gathered and weapons sharpened. There were more important things to worry about than her comrade's hand.

When the time came, Minerva, Miriel, and Cynthia's Pegasus were strapped tight with the supplies they would need for the journey. Each Shepherd carried their own weapons on their back, their own reservations in their heart. There would be no solace, and the only sound was the loud flap of Minerva's wings as she flew up ahead to guide their path. Not even Cynthia rose to the sky she loved so much, not with the weight of death weighing heavily in her mind, not with the loss of Morgan still fresh. Their new quest became a funeral procession, only the funeral was their own.

Lucina had been left behind at the castle, and now not the only one with the impressive knowledge that she had just sent her friends to their death. Chance of success was small, but they all knew that. So they stepped in time, quietly and solemnly, heading northeast towards the board of Plegia. If beyond was their graves, then so be it. It only meant they would never have to fight the man turned monster. Perhaps death was a kinder fate.


	12. Chapter 12

Alright, it's been awhile coming. Here's the continuation!

* * *

The first day was quiet, by Naga's blessing, and the first dent in their journey had been made by nightfall. They made camp and ate in silence, no one willing to speak and destroy what luck they had been granted thus far. There was still ways to go, just over two-thirds of the trip still left to make. Though it was neither a blessing nor a curse that Plegia was so close. For now, it gave them a shorter distance than might have been traveled, but up until then it had been nothing but a constant source of risen. And there would not be an end to that, and the quiet night was no indication of what might lie ahead on their path. One by one, each no wiser than the one before, they hid away in their tents and slept unguarded. But what was never learned from the past may always be repeated.

Gerome heard it first, the unmistakable sound of Wyvern wings beating, dominating the air they road on. He knew the sound well, from the days his mother had ridden Minerva to now, every day, as he flew on her back to survey the area. But this flap, it was not Minerva's wings. Nor could it be mistaken for that of a Pegasus's wings. Immediately, panic flooded through Gerome and he scrambled up and off the ground, out of the makeshift bedding.

"Inigo!" he whispered, though his voice made it through to his sleeping tent-mate. Inigo jerked awake, pushing the hands away from him in a sleep stupor, but one of panic as if he had awoken from a nightmare. Only he had awoken into a nightmare; the screams of risen came next.

"Risen? How—why?! We haven't seen any all—!"

Gerome slapped his hand over Inigo's mouth, prompting him to stay quiet. If they were quiet enough, with the Risen only searching, they could at least slip on some armor before heading into a fray without plan. Inigo nodded in understanding, prompting Gerome's hand to leave his mouth. Silently, and slowly as to keep their armor from clinking, they dressed.

"I have to make it to Minerva," Gerome muttered. They were clad in armor now, each with a weapon in hand. To communicate, they stood close and leaned together. Whispers would do, and hopefully the risen would not hear. The sound of wings hadn't gotten closer.

"We have to warn the others, I can't fight them on my own," Inigo frowned.

"Come with me, then. Once in the air, we will have an advantage anyway. The others will hear in time—we _must_ be silent," he snarled. Inigo nodded, watching for one final moment as Gerome pressed his mask against his face.

They snuck out the back of their tent, lifting up what had once been staked into the soft ground. Minerva was not far out, and for now, she was untouched by risen. Gerome could only hope she would stay that way, the scars she had accumulated for now were more than enough. More than he could take, even if she could stand the pain of another. They kept their heads down, squatting along in the grass as they moved slowly. Inigo was close behind, following Gerome's lead. They could only hope that the others had woken up and had the same idea. These risen seemed mindless, for now, and had not attacked beyond the initial screech. But Gerome could hear off to the left as one ripped through a tent. Their tent.

"We've been spotted!" Inigo hissed, yanking Gerome around on his feet to see the risen tear through the fabric. There was no point in hiding now. They both stood and broke into a run.

"Minerva, to me!" Gerome called out, rousing the large Wyvern from her restless sleep. She was there in a second, and within the moment he had hoisted himself and Inigo onto her back. Minerva took to the sky then, letting out her own monstrous screech as the risen clamored to grab onto her. Inigo swung his sword, knocking one down to the ground. Minerva was gone then, out of reach, and they could only screech. She flew back towards camp, ducking down between the tents and knocking what risen she could with her body. Gerome kept a grip on her while Inigo worked his blade, attempting to kill what attached to her in the rough contact.

" _Thoron!_ " Laurent's voice called out then. A large bolt of lightning appeared directly beside the Wyvern, obliterating a risen which had gotten too close to Inigo's back, one he hadn't seen. The hero breathed, looking down as Laurent faced a horde on his own. There was no time to help.

Laurent cast his spells from foot, trying to carve himself a path to his horse. But the risen seemed to have no end, and even as Kjelle joined him, they were hard pressed to move from their position, lest they risk losing what life they retained. She held them off with her spear, and once the only tome Laurent had kept on him for the night ran dry, he drew his sword and met the creatures head on.

An echoed voice proved to be their salvation, "Watch out!" Nah had shouted seconds before fire rained down, burning the risen where they stood. It was armor which had saved them, but the priority remained obliterating risen. Injuries could be dealt with later.

"I need to make it to my horse," Laurent informed.

Kjelle nodded, "I've got your back. Cynthia headed out that way, she'll meet you there: I'm sure. So just run!" she took up a javelin in her left hand, retracting her arm only to propel the weapon forward. The risen were only behind him now, as Laurent took off, but he kept his eyes forward. If he knew what carnage lay behind him, he would only get distracted. Without it, it only took him moments to reach and mount his horse. But something far worse was on the horizon, one which everyone could now pick up on. Even without the trained ears of one who had been around Wyverns all his life, they could all hear the flap of large wings now.

"What is that?" Laurent wondered aloud.

Cynthia gulped, "It has to be—no, it can't be Grima. But a Wyvern? Maybe a risen? More of them?" she was entirely unsure of herself, but even in the dark, it was unmistakable what happened next. The wyvern came into view, with only a few torches and the moon illuminating its scales, but its rider was far more important.

"No…" Laurent felt his heart cease in that moment, watching as the small figure jump down and land squarely on her feet. If it wasn't the golden sword, it was her face when she stood.

"No way! Morgan!?" Cynthia cried. Her voice carried, catching the attention of every Shepherd in the small camp.

"Did she just say Morgan!?" Severa sneered, shock worse now than the disdain rising in her voice.

"No way—that can't be right!" Brady tried to argue, but there was no use fighting the facts. Not when they could peer forward and watch her stride across the field.

"Fight harder!" she shouted, a smirk on her face, "We can't let them enter Plegia!"

"Morgan!" Laurent shouted, kicking his foot into the side of his horse. She dashed forward, and what met Laurent crushed him more than any death could. Morgan met his blade with her own, stopping him in his tracks. His horse reared back, crying out as Laurent struggled in the blade clash. Soon enough, their swords rebounded and they both went flying back, Laurent falling from his horse.

He recalled their training, and like instinct, he scrambled to his feet and moved, barely avoiding the cast of a spell. She was predictable, even now, and he used that to his advantage as they met blades again. Only a brief look was needed, their eyes met, and he saw nothing of the girl he knew. Something was different, the way her eyes looked. They glowed red, pupils slit down the middle of her iris.

"What happened to you?!" He couldn't help but question as they pulled back again. She only smirked.

"I saw through your lies," she dashed forward. Their blades clashed now, each blow meant for nothing but fatality. Laurent defended, and only defended, but Morgan was out for blood. Around them, the fight raged on as it always had. Only this time, there could be no retreat. But one other thing had changed, now, they had nothing to lose. If they died, Lucina remained and would find a way. So they fought with everything they had, gave it all and forced it through their weapons: their very life force guiding blades, arrows, and spells.

It was only when the last risen fell that Morgan unleashed a rage of fire in Laurent's direction, sending him flying back. It was the distraction she needed to mount her newly gifted Wyvern again. Cynthia watched her, in panic, and tried to rush for her. But there would be no reasoning with Morgan, not now.

"Fie! Master Grima will be most displeased," Morgan muttered unto herself. She decided then to return for more troops and to warn Grima that they were coming. From there, he would decide what to do. She glowered down at who she had once called comrade, friend, and even husband. It was a distant unpleasant memory now, and she pulled back on her Wyvern to retreat.

"Laurent! Laurent—are you alright!?" Cynthia came to a panicked stop on the ground, nearly falling from her Pegasus in order to get to the wounded young man.

He pushed himself up, removing his glasses in order to clean them. He was in pain, clearly, but valued the ability to see. By the time Cynthia made it to him, the others had arrived. He accepted her offer of help, allowing her to drag him off the ground by his arm, which he then wrapped around her shoulders to remain standing.

"That was Morgan, wasn't it?" Noire started. She hadn't wanted to be the bearer of bad news, but someone had to break the uncomfortable silence.

Laurent shook his head, "No, it couldn't have been…. Something was different about her," he muttered. His hand held tightly at his side as he struggled to move with Cynthia. She brought him closer to the others, finding something to set him down against.

"He needs healing," she explained quickly, her voice cracking. Brady emerged from then, his staff in hand, and knelt down beside Laurent.

"What do you mean something was different?" Gerome asked. He was frowning behind his mask.

"Why would she be leading risen? Why would she be fighting against us? Something in her eyes—" he cut off in a groan as his wounds stitched themselves closed, the magic of healing coursing through his body. It wasn't a good feeling, it never had been.

"She—she said she saw through our lies—" he took a deep breath.

"Our lies? What lies!?" Cynthia let out a high pitched gasp.

"Something must have gotten to her," Severa snarled. "Didn't you say that Grima used to be her father or something? She probably ran off and joined daddy dearest. She betrayed us!"

"No!" Laurent shouted back, shocking everyone into silence. "That isn't it! Something is wrong—that wasn't her! Her eyes, they were different, something, anything! But it wasn't her, I won't believe that."

Severa folded her arms, "Hmph. That's your choice then, but if we meet her again—such silly ideas won't save you."

"I'll take my chances," he growled back.

"Hey now! Why don't ya both quiddity, we need to get some winks now that we're able to," Brady cut in, retracting his staff. Laurent could move easily now, healed enough for the time being. He stood slowly, making sure he was steady on his feet before letting go of Cynthia's arm.

After some rest, Laurent was sure he would return to his senses. If Morgan had betrayed them, it was as simple as that. They were enemies, and no promise meant anything more than that. He would have to face her if that's what it meant. So he calmed his nerves and left the group, baffled by his outburst. And again, one after the other, no wiser than the one before them, they returned to a restless sleep amongst the bodies of risen. No one slept without nightmares that night, the horrors of how they might meet the same fate as their parents.

When the morning came far too early for anyone's preferences, some changes had to be made to their plans. And immediately. But Laurent didn't mention it until the camp was dismantled and supplies hitched back up for transport. Only this time, he did not stowaway all of them, leaving a few days-worth out in a small pack. This, he granted to Inigo.

"What's this for?" Inigo asked, though he gratefully accepted.

"We need to split up now," finally, he said it. Against his own planning, what he thought would be the best course of action, he worked up the courage to split them up now.

"I thought you said we were going to wait on that," Kjelle interjected immediately, "until we were closer to the castle, or something."

"That was what I had originally deduced as the best course of action, yes, but I hadn't accounted for Morgan. I hadn't known she would show up in such a manner, and I believe it may cause issue for us. I can only believe that with the horde of risen she brought, she has begun working for Grima. She may inform him of our movements, and if we are all together—"

"We're just a bigger target," Severa finished, her hands on her hips. "Makes sense, don't see why we didn't split up from the get-go."

Laurent frowned, "Safety in numbers. We have not even reached the board of Plegia; even if we had gone with Lucina's original parting point: that is still at least a day's journey off. Better we split off now—so here," he reached into his saddle bag and pulled out maps. One, he handed to Kjelle, and the other he gave to Yarne.

Each group had at least someone who could scout ahead, even if Yarne was the only one who would have to make the journey on foot. It was better than nothing. The idea had crossed Laurent's mind to pass over his horse, but she would not ride so well for someone else. And he needed the extra support, for now.

"So this is it, then? Will we return alive?" Noire asked, clutching tightly onto her bow.

"That is up to our skill. All we know for sure now is that the locations of the Gemstones may be suspiciously under guarded or over guarded. Gerome, Severa, and I—we head for the castle," Laurent mounted his horse then.

"What, but why you?" it was as though Kjelle was offended that this mission was handed to them.

Gerome mounted Minerva next, lending a hand to Severa. Even they wondered why the mission was theirs, once seated comfortable on the dragon's back.

"Lucina's orders," was the only explanation he gave; it would have to be enough. But the castle would be a longer journey, more treacherous. Even if Laurent was still on the ground, having less people and more mounts would make it faster. The other teams would have to make their way on foot. It was safer, or at least Laurent prayed it would be.

They parted ways then, an unspoken fear that this would be the last time they ever saw each other. Still, not one of them glanced back in the direction of another. They headed their separate ways, the only thing left on their mind: to save this world from the horrid fate Grima had in store.

Lucina had her own job to do, once everyone was gone, but it was no better than the one she had sent her own friends on. They were the only ones qualified to make the trip and allow her just a small sliver of hope that they would survive. Phase two, she hoped, was less dangerous and mere soldiers could handle it. But the heaviness in her heart was all the same as she stood at the gates of the castle, watching a detachment march away.

It she meant to have any real chance of performing the ritual, they would need a passage to Mount Prism from Ylisstol, and before that could happen, they had to ensure the safety of the mountain. It was a simple scouting mission, at least she hoped. A hanging feeling of dread latched onto her as the gates closed. She was left alone in the castle for the first time. There had always been people roaming the halls, but people died more and more as the risen attacked. It had dwindled to just her and the Shepherds, once they were grown. But now, she had sent them away as well. The castle felt like a tomb, housing the souls of all the people she had led into death. All she had left was the sword strapped onto her hip and the memory of what little play her father had been able to teach her before he died. Even still, it was her comfort in a dark time; she made her way to the training room to fight away the memories.

For now, all she had to do was wait.

The large chamber doors opened for Morgan automatically as she stormed into the hall. Grima had seemingly not moved since she left the night before, but it was trivial, his sloth, to the news she had for him. Her short legs made quick work of the staircase. Stopping directly before Grima's monstrous form, she bowed her head low.

"Master Grima—"

A low grumble erupted from his belly, his eyes opening to pierce her with his attention. Her breath caught, like the intense gaze was meant to choke her into silence. Instead, his voice prompted her to speak and do so quickly, rising up in the back of her head to whisper from the inside of her ears. A shiver fell down her spine as she straightened.

"I fear they mean to move faster than you had intended. I met them in combat last night, not a day's journey on foot from the boarder. They are coming for the Gemstones," she reported.

Grima let out a bone shattering screech as he rose to his feet, neck extending upward until he towered far over Morgan.

 _How could they possibly know where I've hidden them!?_ His tail curved protectively around the pedestal.

She shook her head, "I don't think they do, this gives us a chance. Even if they find them, by the time they are able we could mobilize an entire army—big enough to take them down without even breaking a sweat!"

 _Of course we can, arrogant brat. Set to work then, I will keep an eye on them myself._

Morgan nodded, turning at her heel to make her way towards the steps. There was a voiceless tug which kept her from taking the first one down, one which instead whirled her back around to Grima's beckoning call.

 _You may find this challenging to do alone. They have…split, after all._

A figure emerged then, the only thing up until now which had utterly shocked Morgan into silence. It was a tall figure, one clearly belong to a male. But a young male, one who, upon exiting the shadow of Grima's form, looked surprisingly familiar. His hair was black, bangs strewn over his face, and choppy in the back. While he wore a costume reminiscent of the Dread Fighters from history's past, there was something achingly strange about the way he looked. Identical, almost, as if Morgan had peered straight into a mirror. Their eyes were the same color, and though her skin was not as dark, it was impossible to deny what she was seeing.

"Master Grima…" she let out a breathless plea, confused by who was before her.

 _He will help… He has experience,_ was all Grima said before casting them both from the chamber, laying back down.

Morgan looked at the male, too shocked to say anything to him. But, he simply smiled, "I'm not from here," he said, his voice happy for the situation, "but Master Grima called on me to help—to give me purpose again."

She nodded, "Fie, if this isn't all so weird," she folded her arms. "Master Grima will take care of gathering the risen, for now, we have to watch their movements and see what they have planned, where they are going. If it turns out that they have the Gemstones, we will attack promptly. Can you fight?"

He nodded, "Exceptionally so. We could train, find out how the other fights? It would pass the time."

Time, right. Morgan nodded, thinking about the time. All they had now was time, time enough to wait and watch as the Shepherds moved in. It was likely they would find the Gemstones, and Grima probably knew that. But Morgan didn't question his methods; that would be foolish. That was her father, she couldn't question his motives. So they would wait and make their move when ordered, to stop the Shepherds. Possibly at the last minute, but Morgan wasn't in the position to wonder about what Grima had planned. He knew best, he always had.


	13. Chapter 13

Alright the big moment, where the Future Past DLC actually starts. Since I didn't want this to be a boring read for people who have played the DLC, I tried to take a few different perspectives than the game presents and show things in a different way or give some different dialogue. I didn't want to just copy and paste, because that's boring for everyone involved. So, I hope you enjoy what I've got here for you! Comments are welcome.

The forest they had undoubtedly entered was dark, but everything seemed dark with the constant smoke of fires filling the air. It was a rare day the sun shone through them anymore, and with trees covering ground from even the clouds, it would be impossible. Cynthia strode ahead, her Pegasus walking quickly through the underbrush. It would be the only way they could navigate easily without being spotted. Nah might have been a better option, but as a dragon herself, she would be easily noticeable. But Cynthia could fit beneath the trees on her mount. And though she had separated herself from the other three, they remained close enough that she could hear them.

"What are we even looking for?" Nah sighed out, rubbing the back of her head. Her feet hurt, her legs hurt, but they hadn't stopped walking since that morning. It'd been an additional day since they parted ways from the other children.

"Gemstones, I thought that was obvious," Kjelle retorted matter-of-factly.

Nah rolled her eyes, folding her arms next, "You know what I mean. We've been wandering for almost two days now! The forest isn't getting any thinner, and we're not getting any closer."

"I-I'm sure we'll find something soon," Noire muttered. There was some hope, at least, that Noire's words were true. Either way, they couldn't stop walking, nor could they lay down their weapons.

Since they entered the forest, they had not seen a single risen. There were none lurking in the bushes, none waiting out at the end of beaten paths, and none stalking behind them waiting for camp to be made for a chance to attack. The risen were entirely gone, and it was certainly suspicious. It fit right into the two categories Laurent had given them to look for. But there was no mistaking the feeling of dread the dark forest presented, with or without the threat of risen. Even still, their journey could only continue, so they walked on. Their only guide was the white of Cynthia's Pegasus trotting along ahead of them, just within the line of sight.

It was impossible to tell, from within the forest, what time it was or how long they had been walking. But it was darker than before, nearing deep into the evening. Cynthia stopped when the edge of the forest appeared in her line of sight. The trees were sparse, spread out, but it was what now lie between them that caught Cynthia's interest.

"What's up?" Kjelle called up to her. She had been the first to notice the Pegasus standing still, growing larger as they approached.

"I've found something—looks like it might've been a village once," she reported back. She stayed frozen in place, waiting for the other three to catch up to her. And when they did, shock was all that remained on their features. Weariness was a thing of the past when they came face to face with the charred and burned up houses. Hanging in the air was the smell of rot, fresh and stale as though the massacre had been moments before they arrived. Smoke was still rising from the ashes of fires long gone.

"What is this place? Looks like something horrible went down here," Nah couldn't help but scoff, taking the first steps into the confines.

"It doesn't look much different from the rest of the world," Kjelle sighed.

"Doesn't…this seem like a good place to search? Laurent said…" Noire glanced to the side, looking for indications from her comrades.

Cynthia nodded, a prideful smile showing on her lips now, "Yes! Something is bound to be here—let's get looking!" she even took the chance to jump down from her Pegasus, taking her by the reigns and leading her forward.

"Should we split up? It might make the search easier," Nah suggested. Cynthia agreed immediately.

"Sure! You and me Nah, what do you say?"

Nah sighed, but couldn't quite work up the ability to deny the request, so she nodded. Noire and Kjelle headed in the opposite direction once they reached the center of the town. They would start from the edges and work inwards. There were no signs, nothing out of the ordinary, but they could all feel that this had to be the place.

The ground was rough to walk on, more so than the uneven path of the forest had been. At least that was merely stepping over sticks and stones, but now it was cobble stone once set well in place. When the fire had ripped through, the roads were destroyed along with the town, the people who once lived there. The smell hung heavy, along with the memories that lived within the torn down walls. Families, warriors, and craftsmen had all lived here once. And there was no doubt they had all lost their lives.

"It would've been impossible to save everyone, huh?" Cynthia tried to laugh to herself, but her hands only gripped tighter onto the reigns. Nah glanced up at her.

"Of course, but we did try. Killing Grima will be our best now, to give them peace," she shrugged, as if the idea didn't bother her. But her throat had clenched. She could feel it too, the dead souls wandering: lost and waiting for their redemption. A redemption that Lucina could hopefully bring to everyone.

"It's up to us now," Cynthia smiled weakly. "Our parents tried so hard, but we're all that's left."

"Way to put the whole fate of the world on our shoulders; like there wasn't enough pressure."

Cynthia glanced down, meeting the sideways glance that Nah gave her in return. Nah was smiling, it had meant to be a joke. And somewhere, Cynthia was sure she felt a little bit better. Enough to smile for real and to puff up her chest in confidence. Her armor was not heavy, it was her shield and lighter than wind. They would win this fight, and that she was sure of.

"I think I see something up ahead," Nah pointed out, jabbing her finger through the musky air. Cynthia followed her sharpened fingernail, and she saw it too. Through the mist was a blue glow, faint but true.

"Maybe it's Azure!" Cynthia cheered.

Nah nodded, "Let's go! I sure hope it is—I've about had it with this depressing forest thing. Not my style," and so they took off running.

Noire stuck close to Kjelle as they walked and tripped along the messed up path. It was far more decrepit than Kjelle had been expecting, and while her armor had never weighed her down before, she could feel it pressing into her shoulders. They had been walking for a long time, and she was far beyond fatigued. But there was more to come, like the walk home if they were successful. Even if it all seemed too easy.

"Kjelle, I found an easier way through!" Noire called, waving the young woman over. Kjelle glanced in Noire's direction, dropping her hands from the large piece of rubble she had been attempting to scale.

"What is it?" she wondered, her armor clanking as she made her way closer. Noire was leaning out of a doorway.

"The walls between have collapsed, it seems we can get through to the other building," she pointed. Kjelle nodded.

"Good find," she complimented, patting Noire on the back before maneuvering around her to clear a safe path. There was still rubble to traverse, but it was far easier than the mess outside. Once into the adjacent building, she continued to walk until she found the door, but pushing on it became futile. Opening it wasn't going to happen, and all the pounding of her heavily armor glad shoulder was to no avail.

"The rubble must be blocking it," Kjelle groaned, unhappy. "This cannot be happening. How will we get through!?"

Noire gripped her bow tightly, shoulders hunching as Kjelle's voice rose. Her eyes began to glance around in almost a panic, trying to find anything that might help. But instead, she settled on an eerie red glow coming from a drawer left open. Somehow, the small stand survived whatever fire had raged within the house.

"Kjelle, wait," Noire tried, but she began walking towards it before Kjelle even registered what she had said. Noire reached for the draw, tugging on it by the handle. She jumped when it broke off, echoing a clang as it hit the ground. But the drawer was open enough to fit her fingers into.

"What did you find?" Kjelle asked, jogging the short length to stand at Noire's side. She took Noire's bow for her, giving her use of both hands to pry the draw open. The wood cracked and left soot caked along Noire's pale fingers. But the dirt was worth what she found with the very tips of her fingers. She encircled something small, something spherical, and her face lit up as if she'd just received the very best present.

"It's Gules!" she cheered, pulling out the Gemstone for Kjelle to see. She joined Noire in smiling now too, accepting the small stone into her hands.

"We've found it! Man, that was so easy," Kjelle laughed, clutching it in a closed first now. "Come on, we need to find Cynthia and Nah."

Noire nodded, "Yes, let's go."

They retraced their steps faster than they had made them, and only walked quicker when they caught eye of Cynthia's Pegasus in the distance, near the center of town. Their pace quickened into a run, only stopping once they had reached the other two. It was a happy reunion when both pairs revealed that they had found two of the Gemstones.

"Do you think we should keep searching? Maybe we can find them all!" Cynthia laughed.

Kjelle shook her head, "No—no way there are more than this here. Grima wouldn't be stupid enough to keep them all in the same place. Lucina knew that, it's why she split us up to begin with."

Cynthia frowned, "Well—okay fine," she sighed. But there was still the joy radiating from them. Two was a great start, leaving only three to be found.

"It's getting late," Nah pointed out.

"Right, but I think we can keep going for a bit. The next safe place we come across, we'll camp for the night," Kjelle decided. There was no argument to her choice, after all, they were all excited to reach Ylisstol again as fast as possible. Lucina would be overjoyed to know that they had retrieved two of the gemstones. But Grima wasn't about to let one-third of the puzzle fall right through his claws.

The path bad through the forest had not been quite so easy, as there was no way to retrace their steps perfectly. It was for the best, as there had not been a single building they had passed on the way to the village, but now, on a new path westward, there was a large abandoned structure just before them. Illuminated only by the fading moonlight, the only thing they could tell was that it was a single story and in horrid disrepair, but it was a place safe from the elements and whatever creatures could be lurking within the forest.

"How about there?" Nah began. "We could sleep there for the night, take turns on watch, and head out in the morning."

Cynthia nodded, "It looks quaint enough, even if a bit dirty," she couldn't help but grimace slightly.

"It'll have to do, it's gotten too dark to travel," Kjelle sighed.

"We should stop here, please, I'm getting tired…" Noire interjected her thoughts as well. It was decided unanimously, then, that they would stay the night in this building. It was their exhaustion talking now, as none heard the rustle of leaves behind them. There was no wind blowing that night, there was no excuse for the noise except the obvious. They were being followed now, being watched. And they had been, from the beginning. After all, it wasn't fun to destroy hope if there was none to begin with. By handing over the Gemstones without a single bit of fight, the girls had been lulled into security, hopefulness, and even egotistical pride that they could win.

All that luck was bound to run out, and in the darkness, there was nothing they could do. The four girls stood together near the middle of the building, surrounded by walls. Some were broken, others were still standing, but all that mattered was the clear pathway back out the hole which they had entered from. But that hole was not large enough to let in the light that was needed to illuminate the threat as it arrived in droves. They only noticed once the torches were lit, and turning to face them revealed, suddenly, that this would not be as easy as they had originally intended.

Risen stormed in, an entire army of the creatures, and completely surrounded the girls. They protested, and loudly, but there were only four of them. All the luck in the world could not outmatch the pure numbers the risen had on them now. One by one, their weapons were stolen and they were backed into corners. Barricades rose up between them, and they were left alone, each with their own small horde of risen now. But beyond them, beyond the barricades and the doors, more risen awaited. Even if they had somehow managed to win with their hands along, there was no making it out of this.

"We can't give up! We have to protect the Gemstones—we have to get them home!" Cynthia tried, but her mother's spear was gone as well. Nah gave up first, accepting and even wondering why the risen hadn't taken her life already. Kjelle followed, and Noire reluctantly gave in with a tight hug around her own shoulders. Even Cynthia's smile fell. Even for the kind last words spared, that they were friends and life might have been bad, but it would've been worse without each other. There seemed to be no hope, not anymore.

Morgan was his name, the mirror image of Kilian's daughter and the very same girl the Shepherds had called friend. He was not the same, but identical. Of a different time, the same time with different people. And Kilian had called to him too in a way so similar to the Grima he had known. But with her dead, he answered Kilian's call through time fast enough, and now took up his turn on the battle field. He wielded an axe on his back and a book of lightning in his hand. He commanded the risen.

The battle was supposed to be quick and easy. Kill the girls and take back the gems, but something rose from the opposite end of the battle field which he had never expected. It appeared in a flash of green; _they_ appeared in a flash of green. Something reminiscent painfully of Naga, and the idea brought more questions than answers. Morgan frowned. Time travel was possible, he was proof enough, but he had thought Naga was long gone in this line. That she could still meddle from elsewhere, he was entirely floored by shock.

"How could this happen?! Is that—no! Chrom is supposed to be dead—!" he hissed to himself, but something even more shocking appeared to him. He saw the man, the very man who had sent him here, only something was different. He looked kind, even if his eyes were dull. He looked _normal_ , as though some dragon hadn't appeared through his skin. Kilian stood there, leading the army. It was horrific to watch the man carve his way with ease through the countless risen, leaving people he had brought in the dust.

Morgan watched as each girl was saved, and the panic in his heart was rising. Kilian was cutting his own path, even if it meant leaving risen behind for another to grab, he was coming up the southern path in order to face Morgan in combat. Kilian, even this one now, held a familiarity to the woman Morgan had once called mother, when she was alive. And it was a familiarity that he would never understand, even as it pained his heart. The pain was only made worse as he watched the girls reunite with family long dead, something he would never have a chance to do. The closer and closer Kilian came, the better death sounded to Morgan, as he watched his simple victory unravel before him.

"Master Grima could've never predicted this," he muttered out, hidden beneath a growl. Master Grima could've predicted down to the very number of steps the girls would take, but he would've never been able to foresee the intervention of a god no longer alive. It was baffling that this strange army had appeared just in time, and their body's reeked of Naga. She had done this, Morgan knew for sure, but he would never get a chance to tell.

Kilian approached him, a sort of apathy in his eye as he raised up his own axe and pointed it at Morgan. He didn't recognize the hooded figure, nor did he feel the burning familiarity as it pierced his armor. This Kilian, there was no doubt, was just as susceptible to this future as they all would be, any Kilian Morgan was lucky enough to find. But it proved no comfort that this future would come to pass.

"This army is poor," Kilian examined. "I would've hoped for better. Let me show you how it's done," came the fearsome hiss. His speech was short, as to be expected.

Morgan didn't even see Kilian move, his feet were so quick, but he managed to block part of the attack with his own axe. Having pulled the weapon from his back in a panic, Morgan dropped his tome to the ground. The book hit with a heavy thud and lay there, waiting patiently for Morgan to join it as their blades clashed together. Morgan had already been hit, bleeding from his shoulder, but he wouldn't give in quite so easily. He pushed back, forcing Kilian to slide along the tiled floor. But the tactician was back on his feet in a flash, dashing towards Morgan with all the determination of any fighter on the field. If the best defense was a good offense, Morgan was failing in every aspect. Kilian's blows were powerful and meant for nothing but death. He had intended to kill Morgan from the very second he laid eyes on the unfamiliar boy.

Even if the tug at his heartstrings told him otherwise, Kilian would not stop. This was for the greater good, after all, and if someone were to realize it was his doing that saved a timeline and not Chrom's, it would be Naga. And Kilian held to that hope tighter than his hands around the blade of his axe. His knuckles were turning white beneath his gloves, like the long handle might crack under the pressure. But it held up with each blow Kilian dealt, and each blow Morgan somehow blocked. But with no room to make his own offensive attack, Morgan would be laid to waste the minute he let his guard down, the second he grew weary. That second was growing ever nearer as the blades clanged together.

With every passing moment, risen showed up from beneath the floor, but the Shepherds of time past destroyed them with ease. Sumia was far more graceful than Cynthia remembered, but still just as skilled with her lance. Sully was ever stronger, a warrior Kjelle could never hope to beat. Tharja was mad, but she always had been, and it had guided her spells from the moment Noire saw her again. And Nowi—she was still and would always be a child. But in that moment, it comforted Nah that her mother had not changed. But what gave the girls more hope than anything was the final shout of Morgan as Kilian's axe pierced his side in that single second the boy had felt fatigue sweep through his limbs.

The axe penetrated deep into his ribs, yet crushed his heart seemingly all the more as he looked up at greenish brown eyes, and how kind they might have been if Kilian had more of a care in the world. Morgan fell, there, a final wish that perhaps he had done something better with his time, and closed his eyes with all the peace in the world. Kilian stood victorious, though not a smile pecked upon his apathetic lips.

"We can't stay for long," he warned, and it was a mark of pain on the four girls. Not only did their heroes have to depart, but it was their families. Even Kilian could appreciate that and smiled so gently it almost hurt. But he was gone before any of the girls could so much as see him, ask him his name, or learn that he was the face of their enemy.

Just as fast as they had appeared, the mystical army, their families, were gone. Cynthia, Kjelle, Nah, and Noire had somehow escaped with their lives, and with little time to celebrate, they put their feet back on the beaten trail and worked their way to a place where they could rest, just for a time being. They would resume their way back when the sun had arrived.


	14. Chapter 14

Bit of a longer chapter today, this time covering Brady, Inigo, Owain, and Yarne's little story. This time I really jumped of what the DLC presented to give what i thought might have been how they came across the two gems. So I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Inigo had taken up running in the open field, if only to attempt to keep up with Yarne has he ran, completely in his rabbit form. Yarne had always been fearful, of everything, and having Inigo trailing close behind him gave him a bit of security in scouting head. Inigo had _wanted_ to ask if he could just ride on Yarne's back, it'd be easier for him that way. But that might slow the bunny down, and with a time crunch, that wasn't something that could happen. It was the early morning of the third day, and they had come across some picturesque valley. There was a deep chasm spreading out in the middle of it and a mountain to the north. There was a bridge there as well, one which they crossed over. They went north, towards the mountains, and followed the edge of the chasm to the east.

Owain and Brady trailed behind Yarne and Inigo, keeping close watch of where the rabbit lead them. Inigo trailed behind, somewhere in the middle, but Owain and Brady continued to only walk. They jogged when it was required, to close some distance and not lose sight. Their journey had been a long one, and they equally thought it was amazing that Inigo could keep up running after all this time.

"Do you have any idea where you're going!?" Brady shouted up ahead. He was breathing hard, the constant movement starting to get to him.

"Nope!" Yarne replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world that they were aimlessly wandering a path.

"We're just searching," Inigo clarified. "Those Gemstones have to be around here somewhere. We just gotta keep looking!"

"Sure, like they'll just show up," Brady grumbled to himself. It made Owain snicker, but the laughter was short lived as Yarne and Inigo came screeching to a halt just in front of them. It was seconds away from being one large trip for all of them, but Brady and Owain managed to catch themselves.

"What—what now?" Owain asked, but silenced himself immediately when Inigo threw up his hand. It was clear then, all he had to do was look forward. There was a building, small and a falling apart, but more importantly: surrounded by ranks upon ranks of risen. The patrolled it, almost as if under direct order. It was obvious, too obvious, and right in plain sight.

"That has to be where they're keeping a Gemstone, maybe even more than one if we're lucky," Inigo whispered.

"There aren't even that many! Why—with my sword hand we will have them vanquished before dinner!" Owain made a move to stand, ready to draw his sword, but Brady yanked him back down.

"Don't be stupid! They see us an'we're dead!" his voice was hushed, but clearly angry. Owain couldn't help the embarrassed smile which drew up on his lips.

"Then just how are we going to get past this?"

"We'll have to sneak, all of us. A distraction is no good, but maybe if we split up—" Inigo was promptly interrupted when Yarne transformed back into his human form, a look of extreme worry strewn across his face.

"S-split up!? You can't be serious!" he cried, struggling to keep his voice down.

"We have to! You and Brady go one way, I and Owain will go the other. One of us will be able to sneak past us and get in there. All we need is to get the gemstones and sneak back out! They won't even know we're here—it'll be a piece of cake," Inigo tried. His smile was nervous and sweat dripped down his cheek. He wasn't sure in himself either, but he put on the faces as best he could. If the other three backed him up, maybe they'd be okay.

There was a silence that swept over them as the other three thought about the option. It really seemed like the only one which wouldn't end in their untimely demise, the only option they could take if they wanted to have any chance of making it out of this alive: even if there was no Gemstone to be found. So they agreed quickly, splitting off into pairs. Inigo and Owain took to the right. There was less coverage away from the mountain, but if any of them were going to be caught, Inigo and Owain would have the best chance of surviving the attack. It was a sacrifice that hopefully wouldn't have to come to pass.

"Do you think there's a back way to sneak in?" Inigo wondered aloud. They were crawling through the tall grasses, making their way around the very edge of where the risen seemed to patrol to.

"A back way? Everyone knows a hero uses the front door! How else would someone know if their spectacular arrival?" Owain retorted.

"I think even the hero needs to make it out alive, yeah? We'll try for a back way first, and if not, we'll charge right in the front." Seemed like a reasonable compromise. Owain was more than happy to accept it, so they continued crawling until they had passed the building. Yarne and Brady were entirely out of sight now, but good news immediately replaced the worry. While not so much as a door, there was a hole in the wall on the backside of the building. The stone walls had been crumbling for some time now and gave the two _heroes_ just the entrance they would need.

Up close, the opening in the wall was smaller than it had looked, and it proved a tight fit, but both of the boys made it through relatively unharmed. When Owain stood up, he couldn't help but complain just a little that his back hurt now, but there were more important things to be done. Inigo took one step forward, and it would forever be the step he regretted taking. The building was old, as it was, but maybe the sudden step had been what caused the wall behind them to quiver, to shake, and to eventually crumble. It was bad luck, but suddenly, the loud roar of risen rose up from the outside.

"That can't be good," Inigo gulped.

"We've got to run!" Owain took off first, but not towards the exit. He, above all odds, had seen the Gemstones before Inigo did. They were glowing brightly, one silver and the other black. Argent and Sable, right there before them. It could've been so easy, and it was enough to make Inigo's stomach swirl as he dashed to catch up. Owain grabbed both of them, but the building wasn't holding up any longer. It was now picking the lesser of two evils, being crushed to death beneath the rubble or chance being ripped apart by risen. They picked the latter, panic taking over as they began to run.

"Took you two long enough! What were you even doing in there?!" Brady shouted when they emerged. There was no time to explain, Inigo only shouted that they need to run, and they needed to run fast. It was all they could do, the exhaustion creeping up from the days, to run without tripping through the tall grass. The risen were directly behind them, if anyone stopped it was certain death. But that was a sacrifice that had to be made.

Owain forced the Gemstones into Brady's hands when they reached the bridge again, his brow set in the most serious look any of them had ever seen on his face. With a straight jaw and heavy eyes, he told them to go, to cross the bridge without him. They all knew that there was no way they could keep up running forever, and as long as the Gemstones made it back to Lucina, it didn't matter if he did.

"You've gotta be kidding! You can't just stay behind—" Brady protested, but it was the only word he got out. Owain had always wanted to be a hero, and if that meant dying for his friends, then he was willing to take that chance. It took a great deal of prompting, but in the moment there was no other choice. Brady took the Gemstones and fled across the bridge, Yarne immediately behind him. Inigo did not follow, he merely stood there. In one second he was glancing wistfully at the bridge, but in the next, his eyes had turned to see the risen on their way.

"The way is clear down here!" Brady shouted. They had made it to the other side, and risen were appearing from the west now as well, but they could run fast enough from there. All that mattered then was Inigo and Owain coming too, but neither of them budged. If they moved from their positions, the risen would follow them without hesitation, and without fail. The risen would not stop until they had succeeded in taking back the gems, killing the four of them.

"That's not something I can allow. Go on without us!" Inigo cried, raising up his sword to slice the ropes of the bridge. The entire thing collapsed into the canyon, gone in the blink of an eye. Owain had told him to go, but if he stayed they had a chance. Even if it was small, they had a chance to escape. No matter how long it took, they would survive this, and their parents' deaths would not be in vain.

But this battle was not one they would be going alone, even as the risen closed in and the familiar sound of Wyvern rings rose up again in the west, something stopped it all in a brief moment. A faint light shone, a sharp intense green color, but it was gone in an instant. In its wake stood Kilian, once more, with a whole new army behind him this time. He only let out a heavy sigh, twirling his axe through the air to land on his shoulder. He pointed forward, his index finger landing directly on Yarne and Brady in the distance.

"We protect them this time," he said dryly.

It was Morgan now, cold from the mountain air without her coat, who could not believe her eyes. Kilian's hair was auburn, and even through the heavy rain that began to pour, she could see it from across the way. She panicked this time, an unbridled urge to look away and leave planting in her heart. But all she could do was look away and calm her nerves. She breathed deeply before sounding the order to attack, sending fliers immediately south to with intentions to kill. Her eyes saw right through her friends, Brady and Yarne, and saw the Gemstones that Grima so desperately wanted. She turned against them easily, but her army would not win as such.

Morgan had never known Panne, never seen her before, and had only ever heard short stories of the Taguel woman. But in beast form, she was more ferocious than Say'ri could've ever recounted. And Say'ri recounted a lot of things, not all of it pleasant, but even as Morgan lay her eyes on Maribelle, the smug smile on her lips, she was shocked at the way the woman handled a tome with such ease. Morgan's own fliers were shot down before her eyes, others had been there to protect the women from their attacks. They were there for one reason, she guessed, to protect their children. So more risen were called, anything to halt the advance of the army.

She sent swarm after swarm in all directions, focusing heavily on Inigo and Owain. If she could succeed in killing them, hope would be a distant thing of the past, a fond memory to wave at through moments of reminiscing. It was clear to her when they began to tire, and she prided herself on it. Inigo's sword adorned a long crack now, while Owain found himself quite unable to stand easily. But his knee never touched the grass, and Inigo's face spoke of determination serious enough that, should his sword shatter right there, he would fight the risen with his fists.

But Morgan's risen were relentless, and for each one the pair killed, another took its place. They were monsters, expendable, replaceable. All were waiting for Morgan's call, ready to die if she but willed it. She sent more, wave after wave, rank after rank, flier after flier. There would be no end of them until she was no longer there to call upon them. But, she figured, it would be no fun if she stayed on the sidelines the entire battle. Killing those liars would have no substance if she was not the one to remove their hope, so she held tight to the reigns of her Wyvern and found her change. Say'ri's stories had been enough to tell her all she needed when the pink haired woman ducked past her, as if she and her swordsman companion hadn't a care for her and her risen. It was Olivia, Inigo's mother, and trailing not far behind must have been Lissa. Morgan took up all her strength then to dive for the people as they attempted to make their way across the bridge, but something stopped her dead in her tracks. Her pride, her resolve, it faded away in an instant.

There he was, somehow, standing directly in front of her. His axe was slung over his back, his hand holding loosely onto a tome as though he didn't quite care if it fell. But his eyes were more intense than she ever could've recalled, more determined. The very same father she had heard about in Say'ri's stories. A man of many things, words never being one of them. Hearing him speak contradicted everything Say'ri had told her about this man of few words, but she treasured every second.

"There's…something familiar," Kilian said, letting out a sigh. "I felt it before, but this is stronger. Much. You remind me of someone, someone I know," he stepped closer. Morgan's heart clenched in her chest, but she frowned as best she could.

"Master Grima?" she tried. All it did was succeed in stopping Kilian's sure steps towards her.

"What?"

She knew she was making a mistake, it was so clear to her that this man was different, but she had to know the difference, she had to know the truth in his words, "It's too dangerous to be out here—"

"You've mistaken me," he interrupted. "I'm not from this world. I'm only here to help the Ylisseans. And so my own words confuse me, that you are so familiar. But, to you, I must be familiar as well."

Morgan's façade was wavering, her brow softening as she listened to his voice. It was different, softer almost, than the one Grima had used.

"Another world…." She let out a gasp. It was true, "that makes you—" she had known it, and questioned now why she had doubted it. "No, this is dreadful, this can't be happening."

Kilian raised an eyebrow, "Clearly, I've troubled you."

"I am not! That's none of your business," she cried back, her Wyvern shifting away on its feet. She tried to compose herself, as to not make a fool of Grima's servant on the battlefield. "Why would you tell me you're here to help the Ylisseans? I'm the enemy!"

"Sure enough, but," Kilian took another step forward, "we are so similar, why would you hurt me? No. I remind you of someone. Vice versa. A gut feeling is silly, but I'll trust it."

Morgan sighed. Mother had been right. His speech pattern was awkward and hard to follow, but she knew it so painfully well. It was the same one he'd always had, even when he had whispered to her as a baby.

"A tactician should know better," she replied, a bit disappointed by how easily he warmed to her. She should've expected

Kilian chuckled, "She should," he meant her. "Thank you for confirming my suspicions. You knew me, from this world at least. And you cared."

"It doesn't matter. Fie—my loyalty is not with you, I refuse to talk!"

"I didn't ask you to," he clarified, stepping ever closer. "Whoever I am in this world, he's lucky to have you. I wish my comrades were so loyal," he teased lightly, glancing back at the battle still raging. It was a shock to Morgan that he could find such ease talking amidst it all.

"That's none of your business!" she retorted, almost angry that Kilian had showed up only to tug so hard at her heart.

He nodded in reply, "Of course. My apologies, so why don't you take this?" he offered her up a book, the very same he had been holding. When she saw it closely, her original assumption had been wrong. It was a tactical book, a familiar tactical book. Morgan reached down without hesitation to take the book from his outstretched hand.

"My favorite tactical book, my own. Details the basics," he explained briefly.

"Isn't this yours? Isn't it important to you?" she asked, thumbing through the pages. The notes were all identical.

"I don't need it. I've memorized it, I can recognize each on the battle field in play. I'll be safe with it in your hands."

"What makes you so sure?" Morgan questioned immediately. "What if I end you right now?"

Kilian laughed, "No. You won't. I have to go now, so don't disappoint me, alright?" he smiled gently. He walked away then, nonchalantly like the ordeal had never happened. He joined the fray, though it appeared his comrades had done a good bit of work in his absence. The risen seemed to fall faster at his hands.

Morgan let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the book. She already had it. Say'ri had given it to her a long time ago, when she was still too young to read. But she had always kept it close. Say'ri had said it was the only book of Kilian's she had taken, because it was his most precious possession. It was all she needed to remember him. Morgan smiled as she glossed over every identical note and dog-ear mark. Her heart felt heavy, and her eyelids felt worse as they threated to fill with tears as she looked over the battle field. Brady and Yarne had escaped, Inigo and Owain were protected. She was losing, and even if she could swoop in now to continue the fray, to fall upon more risen. She couldn't do it.

"I…was ready to kill my own friends," she whispered to herself, tucking the book into the saddle of her Wyvern. "I can't do it anymore. Forgive me, Master Grima," she pulled back on the reigns, prompting the dragon to take flight. She caught the attention of these mysterious warriors, of her own friends, but none of them expected her to fly off as she did. She didn't spare a single glance back to them. It was shame which kept her face away, and the knowledge that this might be the last day she lived.

Even in Kilian's skin, Grima's yell was ferocious. When Morgan gave him the news, that not only had the partner he'd given her fallen in battle and failed to retrieve the gemstones, but she had done the same. But it was worse, she had not died for her cause. She retreated in pathetic unwillingness to fight her own father, even if he was from a different world. Grima's yell shook the hall, and he stalked forward to bring the back of his hand across her face as he could. It sent Morgan flying to the ground, her teeth digging into the skin of her cheek. Blood dripped onto the floor when she hit it, but she did not dare stand up.

"Arrogant brat! You think you can decide your fate yourself?! How foolishly disgusting, your familial emotions. You've failed me, and had the nerve to show your face back!?" his foot connected then with her stomach. He was well aware that his hold on her had broken, and fully intended to end her before she realized.

"F-forgive me!" she cried, tears prickling at the edge of her eyes.

"I'll deal with you later," he spat. "I have business to attend to—Lucina can still be stopped." He kicked Morgan once more, sending her down the stair case, before vanishing.

He had taken on human form again for one reason, but this time had been sure to steal back what would make him obvious again. Subtly wasn't his strong suit, and taking Morgan's coat wasn't hard. It had belonged to Kilian, after all, and she was on the verge of unconsciousness. He adorned the ratty coat, then, knowing when he arrived that his old friend Tiki would recognize it immediately. A smirk slid across his features, letting his sharp teeth show. He would gladly visit Lucina, and it was made all the better by Tiki's appearance there. Even if they had no idea he knew what was happening. The element of surprise was always so _fascinating._

Lucina had grown jittery and anxious when the sun began to set on the fourth day. She had been forced prior to send the rest of the army out, once the risen stalked closer and closer to the capital. And as each hour passed, there were only more casualties to count, more dead bodies to bury when the carnage stopped. But still, all she could do was wait within the walls of the castle. She couldn't go out and fight, lest she risk losing her life and all that they had worked so hard for. It would be pointless, foolish even. So she waited, biting her lip and picking at her fingernails. It was all she could do, if not training, lose herself in mindless activities to keep the thoughts of death from creeping into her mind and taking hold.

"Is something wrong, Lucina?" a sudden voice jolted Lucina back to life, from her frozen stupor of thought. She nearly shouted in her surprise, but settled for whirling around and tripping on her own two feet.

"Lady Tiki?" she blinked, brushing her bangs out of her eyes briefly. She didn't believe what, or who, she was seeing before her. The lady was short, hair long and green, ears pointed. A manakete, and one hailed as the Voice of Naga.

"I thought you were at Mount Prism?" Lucina questioned immediately, though she had meant only to exclaim in shock that she had never imagined she would see Tiki here. But the question, regardless of how it was worded, elicited a grimace on The Voice's face.

"Mount Prism was lost days ago," she informed, regretfully. "It was only by luck I managed to make it out myself, not without watching your brave soldiers fall."

Lucina felt her heart still in her chest; she grasped at her clothes as though they constricted her ability to breathe, "It's…fallen? But—"

"If it was not for the soldiers you sent, countless more would've died. I might not have made it out," Tiki clarified, glancing up to Lucina. She looked on the verge of tears, as though on her shoulder sat the shadow of death itself, ready to take her soul the moment she let her guard down. It was a heavy burden to know it was she who sat at the head of all of this. That she had been the one to make the orders which had lead countless men and women to death.

"Hey," Tiki started, attempting with no avail to change the subject, "where are the other children?"

Lucina took a deep breath, swallowing heavily as she answered, "Plegia." It should've been obvious, from there, her intentions. Plegia was dangerous, it was the most dangerous place she could've ordered her own friends to stalk, but it was the only way. It was clear to Tiki how the decision weighed on Lucina's heart, but something stole her attention immediately.

"Lucina, look out!" Tiki cried, grabbing Lucina by the arm only to circle their positions. A knife sat squarely between her shoulder blades. She held herself up though, hands bracing heavily on Lucina's shoulders as she turned to face the attacker. Lucina, herself, was frozen in fear. Before them was simply a man, his face covered by a hood. But somehow, Lucina knew when he raised his bony finger, sharp nail pointed directly at her.

"It's you… How…. Did you get here?" Tiki gasped for air, grasped for an answer.

The man gave none.

"You need to run, Lucina… Quickly… As far as…" Tiki dropped then, her hands going limp and releasing their tight hold on the princess. She fell right through Lucina's arms, leaving the girl with a look of horror on her face.

"L-lady Tiki!" she cried. It was all she could do to keep her composure, watching Tiki fall limp to the floor. The man, Grima, was walking closer now.

"Damn you! You'll pay for what you've done!" she shouted. But Grima vanished in a moment, gone right before Lucina's eyes. She hadn't a second to concern herself with it. Instead, she spun around and to her knees, picking up Tiki to cradle her in her arms.

"Lucina…" Tiki breathed.

"Why—why did you have to do that?" Lucina's voice bubbled up with sadness. Having another death on her hand was something she couldn't deal with. "That blow—it was meant for me—so why?"

Tiki groaned, "You have to…perform the—"

"No! Stay still, don't talk—let me find you a cleric, or a vulnerary, or something! But you have to hold on."

Tiki shook her head slowly, her eyes closing, "Don't…waste your precious staves and vulneraries on me," her voice was but a whisper now.

"Don't talk like that—Lady Tiki, we need you here," Lucina pleaded, but Tiki only shook her head again.

"You know," she began, a light giggle behind her lips, "this is the first time I've ever…left someone behind. I've seen many of my friends die… It would've been nice to choose my time, at least."

"Stop that—you can't die Lady Tiki!" Lucina gripped onto her arm, "Without you, what will Ylisse fight for? You're the divine dragon's voice! I've already lost Mother and Father—you can't go too…"

They'd lost enough hope for one lifetime.

"There's still hope," Tiki assured, pressing her hand weakly into Lucina's cheek. "You…are that hope, Lucina. You and the other children…. They will return and you will perform the Awakening… Then you can save this world."

"I—I will, b-but where are they!? What if they've—" Lucina feared only the worst, that they had died, but she could not bring herself to say it. It had only been four days. There was time, there was always time.

"Their promses to return were empty," she mourned. "Just like Father's."

"No, you mustn't….talk that way," Tiki pleaded. "Have faith in them… in yourself… You must fight…for the future…" her hand fell then, landing gracefully on her stomach.

"Lady Tiki?" Lucina questioned, panic in her voice. "No, gods, no! Lady Tiki!" she cried out. Her cry drowned out into a scream.


	15. Chapter 15

Heeey it's been awhile since I updated, sorry about that. Things got busy with school and my job, but i'm back here with the second to last chapter! hopefully anyway. I'll try to knock the rest out in one go, unless it's too long, then i'll split it up. But, for now, here you go! My version of the final DLC stage.

* * *

The castle was left nearly vacant, which Laurent found more than odd. There wasn't a single risen, no guards, and no people anywhere within sight. Though the journey had taken the longest, the sun setting on the third day now, it seemed to be only that. The three dismounted and simply walked through the large halls, horse and Wyvern tailing close behind. Pillars towered around them, black as night and decorated only with sparse torches to light the long path. And silence surrounded them, constricting them. Every step they took was an echo of explosions, one closer into madness at the uneasiness.

"This is way too quiet, no way it's that easy," Severa protested.

"Maybe we've gotten lucky," Gerome responded, eager to believe it _would_ be this easy, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Laurent?" Severa wanted another opinion, of course, but he didn't respond. He gulped, his eyes frantically searching. His glasses threatened to fog on him when he began nervous sweating. But this was Grima's castle, and even if he did not find Grima here, there was always a chance he might find Morgan. He wasn't sure what scared him more. Nervousness was becoming more common now that Morgan had betrayed them, and he could not stop the way he rubbed his hand. The ring moved beneath it, probably causing more irritation than it needed to.

"Is everything alright?" Severa prompted again. Her words made it through then, jerking Laurent back into reality. His shoulders jumped, but he remained calm.

"I'm fine," he replied sternly, picking up his pace again. The large door was close, only a minute's walk from their current position. Laurent wanted to reach it swiftly, with all hope that it would be this easy.

"If we find any gemstones here, or the Emblem, we'll have to return faster than we arrived," Gerome warned.

Laurent nodded, "I know. No doubt the others are on their way back already, but I'm sure we'll be able to handle it."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, the only noise being the loud echoes when the door began to open. Their footsteps resounded through the hall when they entered, bouncing off every pillar and stone within the confines of the room. It would be clear indication that they were in the castle, but still, nothing came. Not even Grima was there, all that remained was a pedestal in the middle of the raised platform. When Laurent saw it, his eyes did not go to the Fire Emblem, nor to Vert which sat glowing directly beside it. Instead, he saw his mother's ring. The light hadn't shone on it, rather, it was in a shadow, but the heavy air in the room had caused Laurent to look for something more. The gemstone and the Emblem, the very things they came here for, could not be all. His eyes had scanned and seen that ring as though he had been trained to find it. It's familiar and crude shape stuck out against the plain floor.

Without warning, he took off into a run once he passed the stairs. He couldn't let them see. He would rather explain why he was running now than why his ring was here, why Grima had the ring he never let go of.

"Laurent!" Severa called after him. She glanced at Gerome, nodded, and they both dashed to follow him. His head start was enough to make up for his slower run, as he was still able to reach the pedestal before either of his companions caught up to him. He tore off the lid, tossing it aside carelessly. It shattered, glass spraying out everywhere, but Laurent didn't care. He grabbed the ring off the table and stashed it quickly inside his glove.

"It's Vert," he said once the other two caught up, picking up the Gemstone. It gave off a dull green glow.

"If it's with the Emblem…maybe that's all we need?" Gerome wondered. He picked up the Fire Emblem himself.

"I sure hope so. I'm beat," Severa sighed, folding her arms behind her head. "Come on, let's get out of here. It stinks."

The feeling was unanimous, and the journey would be long. They would have to travel at twice the speed to hopefully make it in half the time. But time was running out. Once they were outside, Gerome and Severa retook their place on Minerva while Laurent mounted his own horse. There wasn't a single moment of hesitation as they darted back the direction they came. It was nearly a straight shot back to Ylisstol.

When they arrived back at their starting point, it was in a worse state than when they had left. The city had been utterly destroyed, fires were raging along the ground, and all it screamed was that they had made it just in time, or so they hoped. There was always that chance that they were too late, too late to save everyone, their princess. They had to make it to Lucina now, that was the only way any of this would mean anything—if Lucina was alive and they could hold out until the other Gemstones were retrieved, there would be a chance their fates could be changed. But nothing worried them more, as they rode further into town, than the looming thoughts of the other gemstones, and even more so the safety of Lucina. The worry only grew as they approached the castle: it was clear something was wrong.

"Wh-where's the top of the castle!?" Severa shouted.

Realization hit them. They were too late: Grima was there and Lucina had already raised her sword against him, locked in battle.

"We have to hurry!" Laurent called, slapping the reins harder. His horse picked up speed. He could tell she was tired, but there was no time to stop. There was a battle to win.

The minutes it took to reach the castle felt like mere seconds, and even once reached, Laurent did not dismount. He rode into the building and dashed up the stairs. He had to take the long way, but made it just as Gerome landed on the exposed floor. The entire second floor had been obliterated. Rubble and pillars covered the area, pictures and dressers scattered about, fabric of curtains and sheets, and poles of bed posts. Laurent came to a halt at the sight of it all, shocked at what had taken place in their absence. It was only the fourth day. Having made it back in time to stop this was a miracle.

"Thank gods you guys returned!" Lucina greeted them, a smile on her face.

"Good to see you too," Severa jumped down from Minerva's back, taking with her the Emblem and Vert. She passed them over to Lucina immediately. "There you go—one gemstone and one Emblem. I hope you appreciate it."

Lucina nodded, taking them gratefully, "I do—you risked your lives for these. I couldn't thank you enough."

Severa put her hands on her hips, "Well good—it took a lot of work to get those," she smirked.

Laurent sighed, "Don't exaggerate what we went through, it's condescending."

"I'll do what I like, you're just being obnoxious. Who cares if we play up our travels a bit? Makes it more exciting."

"Keep them close," Gerome interrupted. "The minute the other Gemstones are returned, you must perform the Awakening," he warned.

Lucina nodded, "I'm prepared."

"Did anything happen while we were away? Besides the obvious, anyway," Severa wondered.

Lucina hesitated to answer, "Casualties, somehow, have been kept to a minimum, but…"

"But?" Severa prompted, a bit annoyed.

"Lady Tiki—she came to warn me that Mount Prism had fallen, and I… I failed her, I let her die, I—"

"Has something happened to the Voice?" Gerome inquired. Even he sounded worried now.

"The enemy—he snuck into the castle. She was wounded by a blow meant for me. I should've paid closer attention, I should've been the one…" Lucina sighed, attempting to compose herself.

"We should all be quite relieved that you survived," Laurent replied, a stern frown on his face. "You aren't to blame for this."

"I'm sorry that we weren't here to help," Severa offered. She shifted her weight onto one foot, rubbing her hand along her opposite elbow.

"No, you were doing something far more important. I just need to pull myself together," she slapped her hands lightly against her cheeks, trying with all her might to stay strong. "Lady Tiki said I had to have faith, that there was hope. I believed in her words, that you would return, and here you are. There was truth in what she told me, and I only have to keep believing it."

"The others are alright, I'm sure," Gerome began. "Once they arrive, we must make haste to Mount Prism."

"Even if it has fallen, we'll hold off the risen for you," Laurent interjected. "We'll keep you safe to perform the rite."

"Yeah, that's right! Just see how tough they are once you've performed the Awakening. We'll have this world fixed in no time," Severa gave a prideful smirk.

Lucina nodded. Finally, after all the waiting, she could finally feel at ease with her friends at her side. They were supporting her, like they always had.

"How touching!" a voice echoed out. The wind had picked up exponentially, sending a heavy gust right in the direction of the four children. They turned immediately, watching as darkness gathered at the far end of the castle, forming a hooded man. He cast down the hood to reveal his grotesque face. Six eyes, fangs, scaled skin. Behind it all was the slicked back hair, auburn, of Kilian. None of the four could recognize him as such.

"What a lovely little plan, how I would love to _crush_ it," Grima growled.

"Who are you!?" Lucina shouted in response. "You killed Lady Tiki!"

Grima chuckled, "I am the wings of despair; I am the breath of ruin. I am the fell dragon, Grima," he introduced, adding in a professional bow. "And you've stolen my extravagant entrance. I killed that divine dragon's Voice, should it not be I to boast it?"

"There's nothing to boast about! How could you!?" she gripped her fists tightly, grinding her teeth to contain her rage.

Grima shrugged, "A slight flick of the wrist, it wasn't hard. I had been hoping to end _your_ life, but she was a pest all the same. It won't be long now until I've thrown this world into its demise," he smirked. "But…it would seem your thieving has left me a bit _impaired_ , shall we say. I'll be taking that Gemstone and the Emblem back, if you don't mind," he held out his hand.

"Go ahead and try," Lucina threatened.

"Is that a challenge? A sorry one at that, it's not as though those are of any worth to you. Without the other Gemstones, they're worthless, and since they aren't coming, it would be far less _tedious_ if you would just return them to me"

"I would hope you aren't implying our friends have perished," Gerome snarled, taking his weapon in hand.

"Imply is such a soft word. I mean to tell you what has taken place," a toothy smirk appeared on Grima's face, the perfect façade. It didn't have to be true to work, all it had to do was take their hope.

Gerome grimaced, frowning, "I don't believe you. I think perhaps you should be worrying about the corpse of your servant."

"Our friends wouldn't have died that easily!" Severa joined in.

Laurent's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when Grima began to laugh. It was a deep, sickening laughter. It held no joy, there was nothing happy about the way he laughed. He meant only to mock, to destroy, and to utterly humiliate.

"Would you drop such questions in the face of your friend?" Grima's words confused the other three. It was easy for them to tell who Grima meant, simply by that, and suddenly eyes were boring into Laurent's skin. He was on fire, his arms heavy. It took whatever strength he retained not to make a fool of himself.

"Believe me," Grima attempted to contain himself, "I dealt with her myself. Did you not find a ring?" the question was directed to Laurent.

"You have no proof," he retorted, gripping his hands tightly into his saddle. "If she were dead, you would have a body. With no body, you have no proof. Ergo, she could still be alive. They could be," it was the best he had to offer without losing his composure.

"Such a mature response. Perhaps I didn't lay it out for you. I would think the ring would be proof enough for you, but in case you need me to spell it out. I killed her, she's dead! I killed her with my own hands for her insolence! Shouldn't you all be happy? Your friend who betrayed you!? She's dead, gone, blood on my hands," Grima broke out into deep laughter.

"You're lying!" Laurent retorted. If Grima had wanted a rise out of the boy, he was getting one.

Grima could only laugh, "Believe what you want, then. Am I to believe you will not return what you've stolen?"

"We will not," Lucina replied. Her voice had never been more confident, it resounded through the area.

Grima cracked his neck then, letting out a pitiful sigh, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, but you leave me with no choice." His voice cut off, draining into a horrible yell as purple energy began to circulate through the air. As his yell got louder, the children's ears burned, and the energy grew stronger, closer, until it rained down from the sky and shot back through the floor as spikes. Lucina let out a shriek of pain, her comrades in no better position.

"Is-is everyone alright!?" she held tight to her side, magic still coursing through her. Her knees wobbled, strength leaving her.

"The next blow will kill you. Hand them over—the Gemstone and the Emblem, now," Grima frowned.

"N-Never!"

"And you would still defy me? How amusing, I've never met someone so eager to die," he raised up his arms again, ready to cast his spell.

"If you want to kill Lucina—you'll have to go through me!" Severa shouted, stepping forward. She heaved, blood dripping down from her temple, and though she was barely able to stand, she took up stance in front of Lucina, pointed her sword in Grima's direction.

"Severa—no!" Lucina pleaded.

"How stupid, do you think I have any qualms about killing you as well?" Grima scoffed.

Severa's arms shook now, but her sword would not fall, "You've got to run, Lucina, I'll hold off his attacks—even if it kills me!"

"No—I can't—" Lucina held her breath, stepping slowly back. She didn't want to leave, not when they had only just returned. She couldn't do it, she would never forgive herself if she ran now.

"You have to, you idiot! We'll all die if you can't perform the rite! So go!" Severa bit back. "I'll keep my mother's duty alive, I have to protect you!"

Grima laughed again, "You? Protect anyone? How foolish. Your mother couldn't protect anyone, how could her shadow do any better? I knew your mother, she was easy to _destroy_. You will be even easier, I guarantee it."

Severa could only growl, but she was not left to stand alone much longer. Laurent kicked his heel into his horse's side, trotting forward to stand beside her. Though he did not raise his sword, he picked up his Thoron tome and breathed deeply.

"You have never seen what talents she holds," Laurent protested. "You cannot hope to give due credit to what you've not seen; I'm disappointed."

"Laurent—what?" Severa was shocked most of all.

"She analyzed the situation and decided this would be our best solution. And should your words reign true, then I will be able to give my all in defending Lucina as well. You will have to face me as well, should you hope to proceed."

"Don't be stupid! We don't both have to die," Severa panted out.

"This is not a noble gesture, don't mistake my motives," Laurent replied. "I have lost someone dear, so while I am following what I simply believe to be the best course of action, dying will be of no consequence to me."

His words stunned Severa into silence, leaving her dumbfounded with only the ability to blink at the wounded young man. However, not about to leave his friends to die, Gerome came forward then as well. On Minerva's back, he towered above even Grima. And even then as he declared he would be the next to die, if it so came, there was protest. There would always be protest, but he and Minerva were ready to perish if that's what it took.

"Minerva wants to fight for Lucina as well," he said soundly. "She—we—are willing to die for that cause. She will not lose another, and so if we die, we will do so together."

And the protests were silenced.

"We must leave the hardest task to you, Lucina," Gerome turned to look at her. "Find our friends, perform the rite, and end this monster once and for all."

But still, she pleaded for reality to change. To run and abandon her friends, to leave more to die at her hand, she couldn't do it lest the sorrow overtake her immediately. Already, her heart had stopped beating. She was left with nothing but regret and agony, an idealistic romanticism that somehow this could all change if she but wished hard enough.

"Isn't there some way to change this—some power out there that can stop this from happening!?" she cried, her voice cracking under the utter torment.

"How wonderfully precious this all is. So what will be your answer, then, child of Naga? Will you run for what few minutes their lives will buy you? Or will you stay and have it all done in vain? I have no qualms in killing you all," Grima said dryly, though he could not help but smirk. "I will enjoy whichever choice you make, have no fear of that."

Lucina could only shake her head, her hands grasping at the sides and pulling on her own hair. The choice was too much to make, the pressure was too much to bear.

"Don't you see? Humanity's finished—you have no hope left! I've won!" Grima cried out gleefully. "You have no future! Your mother and father are dead, and the exalted line ends with you!"

"Think again!" came a sudden voice. It held no body, simple resonated throughout the air, loud enough that they could all clearly make it out.

"What?!" Grima began to look around, almost frantically. But soon, something even more strange began to happen.

Lucina drew Falchion from her hip, holding it up. From the keyhole-like shape near the hilt of the blade, a strange glow began to emit. It was bright, nearly blinding.

"Falchion…is glowing?" Lucina questioned.

"Don't give up yet! We're here to help, no one has to die today!" The voice rang out again.

"W-wait, I know that voice!" Lucina cried. The glow shone brighter now, nearly enveloping the four children. It only kept growing.

"Impossible! He's dead—I killed him—I buried his body myself!" Grima protested. "He can't be here! This future is already set in stone!"

"Anything can change! Don't listen to him, Lucina!"

The glow enlarged until it had enveloped the entire castle. It blinded them all, and left in its wake: an army. Chrom stood at its head, a man beside him identical to Grima. Kilian stood strong, anger strewn across his features.

"This is it," Kilian spoke up. "No one will die today, we will ensure it."

But none of it made any sense, it was too perfect for the children to accept immediately. It was an illusion, a trap, anything but what it was. Anything but people long dead, anything but the prince of Ylisse, anything but that man who stood there, the man no one had known anything about. At his side was a woman, shorter than he, clad in a purple fur lined coat. Her hair was sleek and black, just like Morgan's had been.

"But that's—that's my father! How is this happening!?" Lucina could not contain her confusion. It was Laurent who held his composure as he stared directly into the back of the woman. He didn't need to see her face, he recognized her from the painting. Say'ri, standing beside Kilian. His heart could not sink further than it already had.

"Naga calling you from another time? She's getting desperate; truly pathetic!" Grima shouted. "She's already lost if this is all she can give me!" he vanished then in a flash of light, appearing at the far end of the broken rooms.

"It makes no difference, I could crush you all as easy as one!" He held out his arms, an evil glow in his eyes, and risen appeared at his call. They scattered across the floor of the castle, countless of them, standing in groups and pairs and alone: their weapons were strong, their armor appeared impenetrable.

"Dammit—risen," Chrom hissed, but his worry only prompted Grima to laugh.

"How I've dearly missed fighting with you, Chrom. So come! Let me stab you in the back a second time!" Grima broke out into laughter. The situation did nothing more but amuse him, and how he planned to crush them all.

Kilian stood steadfast in his place, axe slung across his shoulder, "Surround them! Get the kids to safety; this mistake is mine."


	16. Chapter 16

Second to last chapter! i'm going to post the Epilogue right after this, because it isn't too long, but adding it into this made this chapter way too long, so i opted to split it up. This is the final part of the 3rd FP DlC and we see the return of Say'ri and Kilian, please enjoy.

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Laurent stood by, grasping onto his horse for whatever remained of his life, and watched the soldiers closely. He knew them, but there was only one thing which caught his eye. The streak of blond hair standing beside Kilian. It was his father, standing right there. And in an instant, every story Morgan had said of their friendship rang true, as Laurent watched Vaike slap Kilian in the back and call good fortune to him. But then the man turned to grab onto the rump of a horse, pulling himself up to sit behind a petite, red haired woman.

As if there had been a plan before hand, Laurent watched as he and his three companions were surrounded by the soldiers. Having his parents beside him again, even as their backs were turned to look out for enemies, had him light headed. It was his wounds, he convinced himself. But even then, the familiar sensation of healing magic washed over him. His head would not clear, even as the pain of closing wounds subsided and he came face to face with his deceased father, his missing mother. There was little time to realize what was happening as the battle began to rage around him, but Kilian's orders were followed perfectly.

They had talked to him, Laurent had cried, and Vaike had offered him a parting hug. Sentiments aside, Laurent prepared to defend himself. He was moved to the back lines, not unlike the other children who had met tearful reunions with their families. And from there he was told not to attack unless prompted: this battle would be won with them unscathed and alive. It was the only way to go about it. And so he sat by and watched what might of Kilian he had never known: just what made him such a powerful Grima.

"Say'ri, stay close," Kilian requested: though stern, his voice was soft. She nodded in return.

"Aye, curse me should I as much leave your side. We will fight together, that I swear," she drew her sword then.

Kilian nodded, taking up his axe. Chrom was with them, though he was unaddressed as they began the push forward. Kilian met the risen with ease. His facial expression did not change, he did not break a sweat. He simply attacked, his axe in one hand and his tome in the other. There was a sword strapped to his back, but he did not touch it. Say'ri was his sword, and in the face of certain peril, she was there. She blocked the attack with ease, crying out phrases which Laurent was positive he had heard Morgan say, and cut down the risen with a single slice.

One by one, Risen fell to them, and Kilian was soon face to face with himself. Say'ri stood on his right, and Chrom on his left. Even as the dragon head rose up from the ground, Grima's own likeness created to be a weapon, Kilian did not waver. He slid his tome into his belt and held onto the blue handle of his axe with both hands. Say'ri gripped her sword tightly, and Chrom's fingers wrapped around Falchion until his knuckles went white beneath his gloves.

"My mistake ends here," Kilian glared. He rushed forward, "You're finished!" he shouted.

His axe connected to Grima's skin, the sharp blade pushing through the skin. But even as blood spurted, the body seemed unscathed and unconcerned at what had taken place. Grima jumped back as Kilian came forward for another attack, and having landed just out of reach for the third attack, Grima raised up his own hand. Purple spikes ran up through the floor, tearing through the air to reach their desired target.

"I am here!" Say'ri came to the rescue immediately, her sword blocking the brute force of the attack. Kilian stood unscathed behind her, the glare steadfast on his face. Say'ri but had to raise her sword then.

"Submit!" she dashed forward, making use of the second sword on her hip now. She drew it at the last second, raining down an X shape slash on the fell dragon, pushing him back and down to his knees. He hadn't a chance to regain footing before Chrom followed up with his own attack, and from the back line, Kilian cast a final spell.

"Checkmate," was all Kilian said, a smirk on his face.

There was no final cry from Grima; the whole of the army watched in shock as he simply disappeared. But it seemed too good to be true, like it had been too easy to dispatch the enemy. Apprehension was there to accompany the silence, the confusion. It blanketed them and softened the blow as Grima's voice rang out.

"This is not your _world_! How is this possible?!" Grima was panting, "This power is impossible! I'm not done with you yet—I won't be finished until I've killed you again, Chrom! Again and again! I will come back until you _stay_ dead!"

But the dragon's head made no movement, there was no body which returned. Only a heavy silence as Chrom braced himself for the final blow, his death in this world. Even with Kilian beside him, he would most certainly face it. But it never came. Chrom lowered his arms, searching now.

"Run…" Grima's voice was different. "Chrom, run." It repeated. The voice was one which Chrom recognized immediately.

"Away from me…." The voice panted, struggling to hold on to what power it had regained.

"What's going on? What are you talking about?" Chrom's voice elevated as if the person he was reaching was far off, somewhere he could neither go nor see.

"No time… I won't…let pride kill you twice," the voice grunted.

"No, it can't be," Chrom immediately turned to face the Kilian beside him. They were there long enough for him to see the regret on Kilian's face, but suddenly a flash of light swallowed them whole. The entire army was gone in an instant, the risen and the battle with them.

"What—father—no!" Lucina cried out immediately. Before them, where he had been standing before, Grima appeared. Lucina rushed forward, regardless of the dangers. With her as their only life line: Gerome, Severa, and Laurent had no choice to follow if only to protect.

"Back to his own world, no doubt," Grima snarled. "The previous owner of this shell seems to have retained a hold over it. But, not to worry, that won't be happening again. Even if he stole my sweet, sweet chance to _murder_ Chrom once more."

"I would've never let that happen! I would've protected him," Lucina protested.

Grima laughed, "There are none who could stand between this man and his selfish pride. He loved your father, but oh how he wanted love himself. Selfish, selfish motives; he would've died to be a hero. Becoming me was the next best option!"

Lucina shook her head, "You can't be telling the truth…" but she had read Kilian's journal. Having witnessed what had just happened, it was all the more painful to think about it.

Grima shrugged, "No matter, his soul has finally perished to save that disgusting man. Back to the main event: should you wish to see your father again, you will only do it in death!"

Lucina braced herself then, but even then, Grima did not move. An arrow had pierced him directly in the shoulder, but alongside that: his arms struggled to raise, his entire being shook and shivered with the unbridled need to move, to murder. His eyes had changed, ever so briefly, draining away the red glow and bringing back the dull greenish brown.

"Lucina, look!" Laurent pointed out. But it was unbelievable, Lucina could scarcely bring herself to trust what truth was before her. But before she could question the man to find out his true nature at the very second, the sound of Pegasus wings distracted her.

"Sorry we're late! Got a little caught up on the way back!" Cynthia called.

"You're safe!" Lucina's face brightened immediately. "Oh, thank gods, you're safe!" she could cry from the joy what captured her heart.

No one noticed the way Grima's eyes flickered yet again, but still his body refused to move, "Impossible—!"

"Nice shot, Noire," Kjelle complimented, "I shouldn't have doubted your skill. I thought for sure we were out of range."

"No need to worry anymore!" Cynthia cheered then, "We've brought your Gemstones back, two right here!" She tossed the small spheres; Lucina caught them flawlessly.

"So, how about that Awakening, then?" Nah offered.

Lucina shook her head, though she couldn't help but continue to smile, "We're still missing two Gemstones: Sable and Argent."

"Well, you won't have to wait long," Inigo's trademark chuckle rang out behind them. He appeared along with the Yarne, Owain, and Brady. They took up place with the rest of the Shepherds then, Inigo passing over the Gemstones to Lucina without a single hesitation.

"Guys, you're safe!" Lucina praised.

Inigo smiled, "We hurried back as fast as we could once we saw Grima attack. Sorry we're a bit late," he offered.

Even Gerome had to smile now, "You simply cannot be killed, can you?"

"Even so," Laurent laughed himself, "you're a wreck, all of you. But at least we're all here now… Well," he stopped short. All but one, he wanted to say. Morgan hadn't reappeared, and he doubted that she would.

"Finally, the Gemstones and the Emblem have all been returned to Ylisse," Lucina beamed, letting out a happy sigh.

"Don't you see—none of that _matters?!_ " Grima laughed. "Naga is dead! The Awakening is impossible, the Fire Emblem useless!"

Whatever hope had finally been found was crushed, burned, obliterated, and destroyed in one sentence. Naga was dead, she had been dead from the start. Grima had never had any competition, and it explained perfectly why Naga's interference had come to such a shock and dreadful blow to his success. Naga was dead; against all odds, Grima had managed to kill the divine dragon. He admitted to the very deed, before his run had even fully started. Naga had been dead the entire time.

"Did you really think so little of me? That I might let that thorn live and risk the Awakening being performed. I'm wounded," Grima sighed.

"No… You're lying, y-you're lying…" Lucina's legs began to shake.

"If only it were that easy. Your hope is dead, girl. Everything you've done has been for naught, and you will die here. Naga's interference means nothing!"

"That's not quite true," a voice arose. Grima was beginning to grow tired of these constant interruptions. But still, he could not move, his eyes flickering from red to dull green as he struggled to keep his control.

"You—!" Grima screeched.

"Your plan was not as flawless as you thought," Tiki began, making her way across the expanse of stone. Her shoes clicked as she walked, her hair blowing in the wind as she approached.

"How can this be?! I killed you!" Grima was enraged, but his reaction was thrown aside in turn of shock.

"Lady Tiki?!" Lucina gasped. Tiki approached then, taking a stop right beside Lucina.

"I will help you perform the Awakening," she said, though her eyes pieced directly through Grima, "as this world's new Naga."

"That's impossible! You're dead!" Grima shouted.

"You may have took my life, but my spirit remained. Kilian intervened, he made sure the children's efforts would not be in vain. I am positive he regrets what he's done and wants nothing more but to end you right here."

"This infuriating man! I swore I would never let this happen again!" Grima struggled harder now, willing the body to move for him. It was heavy, as if it was not his own any longer.

"Happen again?" Laurent wondered.

Tiki nodded, "You all may remember what happened past. A period of time in which the risen seemed like a dream, where Grima did not show his face," her finger rose to point directly at the body. "It was that moment in which Kilian proved he had power over Grima. Grima's fatal mistake remained the day he killed Say'ri. Kilian could only grieve, and for that entire year Grima lay dormant in a fight over their body."

Grima let out a shattering growl, "None…of…this…matters! I'll just kill you again if that's what I must do! Right now—before you can ever reach Mount Prism to perform your rite!"

"That's where you're wrong," Tiki sighed. "The rite can be performed wherever the divine dragon's power is most intense. This was the reason the exalted bloodline used Mount Prism. But your risen defiled it, so Naga's power left and focused elsewhere. Do you know where?" She did not wait for Grima to reply.

"In the remains of the Voice. It was your doing, Grima, which brought the altar right to your feet. Those remains you left right here in Ylisstol."

"What!?" Grima couldn't believe what he was hearing. Everything was falling apart around him now, his plan, his perfect plan had disintegrated right in front of his eyes.

"If you had left the mount alone, you might've stood a chance. But you were foolish, Grima. Lucina—perform the Awakening," she ordered.

"No! I will stop you—I will _kill_ you!" Grima shrieked, but his body would not listen to his commands. He struggled, but to no avail: his feet were glued to the ground, Grima frozen where he stood.

"This incessant meddling—damn you, Kilian!" Grima's cry only got louder.

Lucina took her chance then. The Fire Emblem was complete, all she had left now was to speak the words. As the Gemstones glowed, her voice bellowed out the rite. She asked for power and it was granted, baptizing her in flames. She burned to her very core, her heart was set ablaze in the heat, but she withstood it. She stood firm in her conviction, her resolve unshakable. Lucina grasped the hilt of Falchion with all her might, energy coursing through the blade and through her fingers. A bright blue glow filled the space, casting its haze on the princess as her hair began to fly.

"You have been deemed worthy, Awakener. Your desire burns hotter than any flame—I grant you my power," Tiki finished.

"I would crush you _all_ if I could move my body! Kilian—!" Grima choked on his own words, cursing Kilian.

"Expel the fell dragon, Lucina. Your first duty as exalt lies before you," Tiki stepped back then. "Bring hope back!"

Her comrades piqued up in support for her. Lucina would save them all, right there, and she swore that they would never again meet defeat. She would revive their hope and bring back their world, rip it right from Grima's hands. But as she raised her sword, something stopped her. Her hands wavered as her eyes met Kilian's. Grima wasn't there.

"What are you waiting for, Lucina?!" Severa called out.

"It's—it's not," Lucina stammered. They all looked at the body then. The extra eyes closed, the fangs faded away, and the dull greenish brown eyes stood out against the bloodied skin.

"Lucina…" Kilian spoke slowly, smiling weakly. "Don't waver now. You must kill me, please—let me rest."

But Lucina didn't move. Every journal entry Kilian had made flooded back into her head and rushed to her heart where it grasped. Kilian was a _man_ , he was no monster. He was alone, lost, and in need of what all people wanted. Reassurance. And his reward would be death? Lucina bit her lip.

"Please! Lucina," Kilian begged. He gripped his side, collapsing down to one knee. "Grima is weak, kill us now! Let me rest—I—" his brain worked at double the speed then, searching for something, anything to coax Lucina into killing him.

"I killed Chrom! I killed your father—not because I was forced, because I wanted to! I stabbed him right in the back, when all he'd ever done was trusted me. I murdered him in cold blood—I wanted Chrom dead! Isn't it enough to punish me for my sins!? I want to die a man, Lucian! I want to die the man I should've been, not a monster, not a murderer!" Kilian, who found it hard to speak constantly simply because he didn't want to, screamed for Lucina to strike him down. She was moved.

"Please. Take back the hope I stole; let me die with dignity," he pleaded one final time. It would be an act of mercy, Lucina saw that. She took up Falchion then and rushed Kilian. He did not move, did not put up a fight.

"Hope will never die!" she cried, slashing the exalted sword across his chest. Kilian's arm fell and he slumped forward, a groan of pain leaving his lips. He tried to support himself on his knee, but his strength was failing him.

"Finally…" he sighed, his eyes closing, "I can rest. No one…else will ever…suffer because of me… Thank you," he glanced at Lucina now, his eyes traveling across them all. These were children he had never known, children of his friends. His eyes stopped on Laurent, and all he could do was smile. "May…your lives… be filled with joy…." He paused, breathing heavily. His body was beginning to fade into nothing, specs floating off and vanishing into the darkness.

"She's…not dead," Kilian whispered.

"What?" Laurent asked. He dismounted then, taking a step closer to Kilian. Their eyes were locked, and though no one else understood, Laurent needed to know.

"Morgan—she's alive… I didn't…I couldn't have killed her… wounded her, maybe, but…" he shook his head. "She's…alive… Find her, Laurent…give her a life…I couldn't… Make her happy.

"Forgive me, Morgan," he whispered then, letting his other knee hit the ground. His head hung like a man awaiting judgement, "I put you through…so much."

Kilian's body dissipated into smoke, black and purple energy escaping as he ceased to exist. He left nothing but a coat in his wake, Morgan's coat. Silence followed, but this time, it was a peaceful silence. There was no overhang of dread, no feeling of despair. Even as the sky was red, even as the risen continued to wreak their havoc below, there was peace again. Lucina, Laurent, all of them found it easier to breathe. Just this once, perhaps, they could breathe without hesitation.

"Well done, all of you," Tiki congratulated. "This world has been saved because of you."

Lucina shook her head, "No—it wasn't us. It was you, the aid of those warriors: without it, we would have perished, and all hope with us."

"Perhaps, but you held fast on your own. If you had given up, our aid would've meant nothing. Be proud of yourselves, you are the future on which hope will be built."

"And you too, milady!" Lucina beamed, but Tiki only shook her head.

"No. My role here is finished, regretfully, I cannot stay with you. I am no longer just the divine's Voice, she herself. I cannot meddle in your affairs any longer."

"But—milady!" Lucina tried to protest, but she was cut off when Tiki gave her the saddest smile she'd ever seen.

"I will always be watching over you. Just as the Hero King, your father, and Kilian will. We may not be with you, we may be just out of reach, but we will always be near."

It resonated with all of them, that no matter what they did, they would not be alone. Their parents were watching them, even now. They always had been, and it had guided them from the beginning. That would never change. Even through the sadness of losing it all, it still remained. So Lucina could only nod and thank Tiki, unable to say much more without her eyes welling up with tears.

"May we meet again one day," Tiki offered. "Naga's side will always have a place for the Twelve Heroes."

In that single instant, Tiki vanished, leaving behind only her smile for them to recall. She took with her the darkness, giving the sky back its yellow tinge. The sun shone through the clouds as they parted, it was nearly dawn now. Another day they had survived, and only the beginning of their new adventures. The world had been saved, but there was still so much to do.

"I just…wish our parents were here," Severa spoke up, folding her arms across her chest. She wasn't such a letdown any longer, and she knew that they saw it, even if they had always been proud of her: now there was something to be proud of.

"We will keep them alive by protecting this world now," Gerome said, glancing up at the sky. "They died for this world, it is only right we keep it safe. Isn't that right, Minerva?"

The Wyvern let out a loud screech, one which might have deafened all had they not been used to it. Now, it was simply a happy squeal a child might make, one of utter and incessant joy. Of hope.

"It feels as though none of this has been real," Laurent commented, his shoulders slumping. He removed his glove now, making sure to catch his mother's ring before it fell. "It was as if this happened to someone else, and I had been constantly wishing to wake from a nightmare. But now when I wake, I will be glad that this is reality," he gripped the ring. In his mind, silently, he vowed to Kilian that he would do as he had been asked. He would find Morgan, protect her, and give her a life of happiness. She would never have cause to feel sad if he had any say in the matter. And he hoped he did.

Lucina nodded, "This is real, but it wouldn't be if it had not been for you, all of you. If even so much as one of you had died along the way—this wouldn't have been possible. And for that, I thank you," she looked back at them, her eyes closing briefly to take it in.

"We're lucky to have you too, Lucina!" Cynthia cheered. "You're the biggest hero of us all!"

Kjelle nodded, "You were strong—your bravery and strength are truly inspiring."

"I'm really just glad this is over," Noire sighed out. "There were so many times I assumed the worst."

"We'll never be apart again, not for the whole rest of our lives. There's a lot ahead of us now," Nah added in.

Owain simply cried like a madman, curing his tears as they flowed from his eyes.

"Enjoy that," Inigo teased, "it'll be the last good cry for now. We have a lot of work to do."

"D-damn right!" Brady joined in. He couldn't contain his tears now either, though sadness was the last motive for them. It was happiness, relief, which had them crying.

"Thank the gods we all survived," Yarne sighed.

"And still…" Lucina curled her hair behind her ear, "it feels as though someone is missing. I would want nothing more but for us to enjoy our first peaceful night, but…" she looked at Laurent. He had not yet looked up, hope seemed drained from him.

"Laurent?" Cynthia piped up.

"Morgan," he replied, twirling the ring between his fingers. He wanted nothing more but for his voice to carry to her, to travel on the wind, so she could hear him. Hear the desperation in his voice as he longed for her, longed to know she was alive and back to her old self again. Even if that was impossible, even if there was no way she could hear, all of them heard the scuff of feet behind them.

Laurent whirled around first, laying his eyes on nothing short of a mess. It was Morgan. Her cheek was swollen, dried blood along her lips and chin. Her dress was torn, purple fabric faded, a sleeve missing, and her hair was disheveled. In one hand was the golden sword Amatsu, and in the other was the coat her mother had worn. But before him, Laurent could only see the most beautiful sight this world could bless him to behold. Morgan's eyes welled up with tears, and they spilled almost as fast. Laurent rushed to her then, forgetting everything as trivial as decency and character. All that mattered was Morgan, the girl he loved, his wife, all he really ever needed.

He caught her in his arms as her knees gave out beneath her. She grasped onto his shoulder with one hand, the other reaching out in front of her, beyond his body. Her tears flowed freely, her cries echoing as she could do nothing but scream for her father.

"I-I never got to say goodbye, I—!" Morgan cried. But soon, her arm fell limp. She gave up on whatever she had been attempting to do, to call the man back from the grave to embrace her one last time. She had never known her father, a man named Kilian. So instead she clung tight to Laurent, even as uncomfortable and unwelcoming as his armor was. She clung to him as if he was the last link to life she had, and all he could do was return the ring to her. It slid back onto her finger as if it had never left, and that was the only gesture their friends needed to understand.

"Morgan," Laurent whispered, wiping blood from her lips. He brushed aside her hair to look at her face, and even as they cried, Laurent smiled. "These eyes…" he told her quietly, "they are his—your father's."

Morgan only wailed harder then, clasping her hands around his neck. She blubbered out apology after apology, self-deprecation after self-deprecation. She had been a fool, a simple fool to let herself be used like she had. She had tried to kill her own friends, left the man she loved, and abandoned any semblance of hope in him. And Laurent forgave her, they all did, as they came to join the two.

"You will always have a home with us, Morgan," Lucina smiled.

"Yeah! We're best friends, right? No way I'd ever turn you away," Cynthia offered, bending over to be eye level with her. Morgan's tears wouldn't stop, but at least now, she could smile. Forgiveness was a special thing, something she didn't feel worthy of, yet each one of them presented it to her in their smiles.

"Many did not survive to see this day," Lucina began, "but it's for those people we have to keep forging on for. We will protect this light we've made; tomorrow, a new sun will rise on this world."

And that sun would be one they shared together. Everything would begin anew, from mistakes to things done right. With the new sun came a new chance, a chance to make the world better than it had been before. To make things right. To make amends. To fix what had been broken and strengthen what had survived. That was where strength lied, in the ability to move on past the darkest of times, beyond all hope. So the thirteen stood there, prepared to meet the new day, prepared to fix what was left for them to see.


	17. Epilogue

Alright, here's the epilogue! I want to thank you guys for sticking with me and leaving reviews and what not, and most for reading and enjoying my story. I might do more in the future, once school calms down and work calms down. I did really enjoy writing this and seeing the responses to it.

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Laurent had arrived on his own to the location of what would be his first meeting with the rest of the children for what had seemed like ages. In reality, only a few months had passed, but with the way the world was brighter now, it was as of years had gone bye. The field he had stepped into was not charred by some past fire, but instead glowing with life. The grass was green, long, and moving ever so slightly as the wind passed through the blades. Trees were growing again, though some where nothing more than saplings vying for water in the ground, they were there as a sign of new life. And the sky was blue. Something so simple which had been lost amidst the smokes of Grima's fire had returned so radiantly; not a single cloud could bear to block the light of the sun.

Even with all the pleasures of what life was becoming, Laurent could still find his reasons to frown as he approached the site. He saw Noire there, sitting on a rock with her hands working deftly on something small. But she was the only one there. By walking the entire day, he had figured at least _someone_ would be on time to their meeting, but that seemed like something that would never happen.

"They're late," Laurent sighed, his only greeting. Noire's shoulders jerked and her materials nearly spilled from her lap as she looked up. Her fingers waved at him, saying hello as would be polite before telling him that he was wrong.

"The meeting doesn't begin for at least ten minutes, Laurent," she explained.

He still, could only sigh, "By being here on time, they ensure we will begin the meeting late. It is beyond difficult to get them to cooperate on a good day. Not even a year has gone by, and yet they already act as if the world is immune to crisis! Besides, you were here even before me."

"W-Well, I've been working on these," she gestured to the materials in her laps. Small charms that she was taking time to craft by hand.

"Good luck charms? I had heard you took up making them for people, and that they're doing quite well. Was it a happiness curse? May I look at one?" he approached her as if she had already said yes.

"Insolent fool!" Noire suddenly took a change for the worse, a deep scowl forming on her face, "your clumsy hands will ruin my creations!"

"Ack—alright then," Laurent put up his hands in defeat. He stepped away from the rock and let Noire return quietly to her work. With such an incident, he began to wish others would arrive soon, and he was not disappointed.

"Well look at this," Kjelle appeared from over the hill, "here I thought I would be the first one here," she laughed to herself.

Noire looked up from her work once more, "Kjelle? Have you finished evaluating the new recruits?" she asked.

"Yes," she nodded, "they're all quite tough, too! But, considering what they survived, I should've known. They'll make fine Shepherds, don't you agree, Owain?" she looked back over her shoulder as Owain, pathetically, dragged himself up the hill. He looked more than tired, a bit defeated.

The minute Owain was given a chance he threw himself into a tale of woe and confusion, that now, his hero talk went without question. It was as if the new recruits spoke his language! Instead of staring at him strangely and asking what exactly he meant by "sword hand", they responded in even more epic and heroic ways. It was a new situation, one he'd never experienced in all his years. Though it was exactly what he wanted, there was no way to cope with it. Not yet, at least. Falling face first into the mess seemed like the worst idea with how intense the recruits had been. But it was exactly what Owain wanted to do, his tale taking an upturn for the better, if it could be called that, as he boasted how he wanted to turn his adventures into a theater show for everyone to enjoy.

But the talk of theater, no matter how horrifying the imagination might make it, did not end as Inigo, Brady, and Yarne arrived. Inigo wanted nothing more but to be a dancer, and Brady would be right there beside him to play the violin. They were an unlikely duo, talking of how their first performance hadn't gone well as Inigo messed up his steps, and Brady cried over his own song. But no one's woes could compare to that of Yarne's, whose lifelong dream of not having to worry about extinction turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing. Once it came to light just _how_ rare Taguels had become, his worry had taken a new form as now he could not find a time to be alone. Constantly followed and monitored, he was at his wits end with how to cope.

Nah showed up next, if only to validate Yarne's situation. After Tiki's apparent demise, people began to think that Nah was the new Voice: whether or not there was any truth to that remained to be seen. But regardless, it had caused her more than enough headache at first as they constantly followed her, asking for some reading on Naga's words. It turned wonderful when it turned out they would do anything she asked them, including retrieve anything she might want. In Yarne's despair, he realized she _didn't_ know what he was going through, but the offer to get her friends anything they might desire softened the blow.

The surprises were not over, not as a man none of them recognized showed face over the hill. It was Gerome, but he no longer was adorned by the mask they had all grown so used to. And after all this time, to see him without it was like they were not even looking at the same man. This truth, Gerome reveled in it. When he moved about town from town, no one recognized him as the one of the Twelve Heroes who brought peace to this world again. And so his life was as calm as he'd always wanted it to be. Hearing that prompted envy amongst the others, wishing that they too could go without notice. It was hectic to be recognized everywhere, especially as saving the world had been no small feat.

Once all the clamor had died down, far more than ten minutes having passed, Laurent decided it would be advantageous to finally call their meeting to order. Everyone was there, after all, gathered around in some semblance of a circle. Some had even taken to sitting down as there were other rocks nearby; though Noire did offer to share hers with Nah. Even as Laurent began to talk, the surprises were not quite done.

"Excuse me, but might I join?" Lucina spoke. Her appearance was not unwelcome, but a shock all the more.

"Shouldn't you be at the castle?!" Brady asked.

Lucina laughed, "Don't worry, I've come aided by some very skilled soldiers."

If the sounds of Pegasus hadn't been enough, it was proof beyond dispute when Cynthia and Severa showed up at her side. It was something like karma, it had to be, when Severa became a Pegasus Knight. She had never wanted to be her mother's daughter, but her desire to continue protecting the Exalt line had never been stronger. Cynthia had been more than eager to help, and suddenly, the Pegasus Knights were reinstated as the Exalt's protectors.

"Besides, I've missed you all," Lucina proclaimed, "How could you keep me away!?"

"I think everyone's here now, then," Owain cut in. "Let's get his meeting underway, Laurent!"

"But, wait," Cynthia looked around, "We can't all be here. Laurent, where's—"

"She didn't want to come," he replied. He didn't even have to hear the question to know what had the girl so concerned. Morgan wasn't there, though she had been invited. Laurent had even degraded himself to beg her to come with him, but:

"She still doesn't feel comfortable," Laurent didn't share more than necessary, the talks they had shared about traveling to Chon'sin to live there instead of Ylisse. If only for comfort, Morgan wanted to bury her mother and father with family, wherever Yen'fay rested.

"Oh…that's too bad," Cynthia couldn't contain the sadness on her face. After all, Morgan was her best friend. Even through their long separation, the feeling was still quite real.

"Now, can we begin the meeting, or—" Laurent tried once more, and failed for the third time.

"What's that?" Lucina asked. But they all heard the noise, like the distant sound of a horse whine. Within moments it was closer, and the horse slowed to a trot once the hill had been cleared. And once again, as if talking about her was all it took to bring her back, Morgan jumped down from Laurent's horse.

"Morgan, what are you doing here?" Laurent resisted what urge he had to approach her, maybe talk her into leaving again. But she shook her head.

"I changed my mind, and since you left Miriel at home, I came," she smiled and joined the circle. She was met with an excited hug, Cynthia nearly squealing with joy. Morgan hugged back, laughing. "Besides! I can't hide from my friends forever, we have news to share! Or did you want to keep it a secret forever?" she eyed Laurent, a bit of a smirk on her lips.

He rubbed his temples, and now everyone realized that he had abandoned the gloves he always wore. It seemed like the most normal thing, but there _was_ a ring on his finger. And Morgan shared one too.

"Fine, before we begin this meeting. What's another moment compared to the twenty we have lost," Laurent extended his hand for Morgan, and she took it quickly. She was pulled into his side, arms wrapping around his waist. He fixed his glasses, trying to maintain composure as she buried her face into his chest.

"I guess the first bit of news would be that several months ago, during Grima's reign and…before the incident," he cleared his throat, "Morgan and I had secretly wed, and now that things are beginning to calm down, we thought it appropriate to have a real wedding and would appreciate it if you all attended."

Congratulations were spared, even cheering; when it died down, Lucina offered the castle, the whole of Ylisstol, as a venue. There would be a great procession for the wedding of a Hero. Morgan didn't mind if she wasn't the main event. She was no hero, and was grateful that no one knew just what she _had_ been at that time. And finally, then, with the excitement died down, the meeting began.

However, Laurent had never once found a time where things went the way he had intended them. The meeting went smoothly, for a time, until Minerva interrupted the update on the project to restore Mount Prism. She shouted out something akin to panic, which Gerome quickly picked up on. She had sensed risen, of all things, and that shocked the children. It had been months since they had seen any risen, though it was clear they were not all entirely gone. They just never thought that a group would appear to crash the meeting, but it seemed ironic enough. Laurent sighed as, one by one, each piped up their excitement for getting out into the fray again.

"Wait, you can't all be planning on going to fight them. It's just a handful of risen," he protested.

"You can never be too sure," Brady retorted. It was clear they were all itching for a fight.

"Better too many of us go than too few," Gerome added.

"Right, so grab your equipment, Laurent!" Inigo beamed, his hands on his hips.

"What—I'm going now?!" Laurent grimaced.

"It'll be fun! Come on," Morgan pleaded now, jumping up and grabbing onto his hand. She pulled him off the rock he'd been sitting on, and he could only sigh.

"Oh—alright."

They had all run off in that moment then, to face what few risen lie beyond. After an hour had passed and they had yet returned, Cynthia took her chance to ask if she could go check on them. It was an excuse, a tangible one, as Severa soon accused her of only wanting to try out her new battle cries, but that was enough. Lucina let her go. Contrary, Severa decided that she would return to her own Pegasus. Not go assist in the fighting of what could've only been a few risen, but to prepare for the journey home.

There, Lucina stood alone amidst what the Shepherds had left behind in their dash for victory. It was a strange feeling, to look up at the bright sky. They had not yet achieved perfect peace, but it was close at hand, and that's all that mattered. She had certainly done what she set out to, become the pillar of hope the people needed to rebuild. Her friends had done so too, marvelously. The future looked bright as the sky looked blue.

"The sky is beautiful, isn't it, Father?" Lucina folded her arms lightly. "I'm indescribably happy to have made it to this point, to be safe with my friends. Still…I can't help but feel guilty. You, Mother, and your friends were unable to make it to this point. So many people couldn't share in this joy. I can only wish that this sword would glow again and bring the real you back to my side; silly, isn't it?" She laughed to herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Severa returned, clearing her throat to announce her presence. Her Pegasus was ready to depart for the castle. There were still many things to do, and atop of that, a wedding now to plan. Lucina nodded and followed Severa off, leaving the meeting location empty for the time being. But one thing remained, something always just out of reach.

 _The sky is lovely, Lucina_. Chrom smiled from his seat in the clouds. A figure walked up beside him then. _The sky we fought and died to see again. But I'll always be at your side, my daughter, even if your sword does not flash and you cannot hear my voice. But we're all here, just a whisper away, watching over you…_

 _Isn't that right, Kilian?_ Chrom looked up then, glancing over Kilian as he stood there, motionless. Even now, he had hardly adjusted to being among those who he had called friends, and those who he had killed. But they had welcomed him with open arms, and now he stood with them to see what world could be in the wake of their demise.

So he nodded, pausing for a brief second: _Always,_ he said. He folded his arms and glanced off elsewhere, watching as Morgan laughed. She held tight to Laurent's arm, dragging him down as they walked away from the battle site. At her side rest the sword Amatsu, and she wore his old ratty coat. He was with her, as were Say'ri and Yen'fay. Her family, one she had never known beyond stories.

 _He'll take good care of our little girl,_ Say'ri assured.

Kilian nodded. He squeezed her hand, and with Chrom, they vanished, leaving the world in the hands of their children. That was where strength lied, after all. In being able to move on, rebuild, and pass down what small blessings still remained. That blessing was in the face of Morgan, how her eyes sparkled and her hair shone in the sun. Laurent kissed her, briefly, while no one was watching.

In their happiness, surely, hope would survive.


End file.
